


visible souls

by ThatDesiGirl



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack Treated Seriously, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Rewriting Canon, also there is minor EdLing but the endgame is RoyEd, soul animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23996506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDesiGirl/pseuds/ThatDesiGirl
Summary: At this point, most of Mustang’s squad are listening with one ear into the conversation. Ed decides it’s about time to wrap this up.“So fuckin’ what?” Ed snarls, bristling.If anything, his heat makes Mustang smirk even deeper. As if his visage could get any closer to the devil that he truly was.“I should have imagined you’d have a soul withclaws, Fullmetal. Just wish I could have been there to see it myself.”Aka an FMA AU in which every character has a soul animal. Shenanigans ensue.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Ling Yao, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 48
Kudos: 540





	visible souls

**Author's Note:**

> SO. I’m back into FMA! Also, cute animals! Basically, in this AU, everyone has a soul animal that they can transform into at will. They don’t have their soul animal until after a certain age, because kids are ever-so-changing as they grow up, so their souls haven’t really stabilized, in a manner of speaking. 
> 
> This idea is inspired by a lot of different things. It’s kind of a mashup of Fruits Basket and the concept of animagus from Harry Potter, but also my own twist on it. It’s also inspired by another FMA fic called “Pack Animals” by rokosourobouros, highly recommend reading it bc it’s super good! 
> 
> Also this is endgame RoyEd but there are hints of LingEd bc I just can’t help myself. 
> 
> Enjoy :’)

Mustang waits for Hakuro to leave his office before smirking at Fullmetal. 

“So. A group of train hijackers, a car full of civilians and one Major General Hakuro. No casualties, no wounded, save for the guilty party. Is that correct, Lieutenant Hawkeye?” 

Hawkeye dutifully says, “yes, sir, that’s correct.” 

Ed taps his foot impatiently. Normally, when it’s just him and the Colonel bastard, he would have fucked off without a second care. But Riza was in the room, and Ed liked to think he showed at least a modicum of respect for the calculating woman. Besides, if he left now, Mustang would probably bitch at him to write an official report later and Al would berate Ed for leaving so rudely, and Ed didn’t feel like dealing with that headache anyways. 

That didn’t mean he had to be nice about it, though. 

“Yeah, yeah, me and Al saved the military’s asses _yet again_. Big whoop, give me a fuckin’ pay raise or something if you’d like to do something about it.” 

Ed ignored Al’s hissed _“brother!”_ , opting to instead shoot a withering glare at the flame alchemist. Infuriatingly enough, the older man was not at all fazed by the hostility coming from Ed. 

“And what’s more,” Mustang continued to Hawkeye as if Ed had not at all spoken, “is that it seems most of the fighting happened in an empty train compartment. Isn’t that right, Hawkeye?” 

Hawkeye blinked at Mustang. 

“Yes, sir, that is true.” 

Ed let out a dramatic sigh. Whatever the Colonel bastard was trying to get at, he might as well spit it out already. He had to get on with finding a way to get his and Al’s bodies back after all.

“That’s interesting,” Mustang drawled out, completely relaxed at his desk. Ed wanted to punch him. 

“Oh? And what’s so interesting about it?” said Ed through gritted teeth, knowing he was raising to the bait. “Any competent person would have dragged the fighting to a place without civilians, and that’s exactly what I did, bastard. You could thank me and Al instead of watching you torture answers out of the Lieutenant. Seriously, she deserves better than this.”

Ed likes to think that the near imperceptible twitch of Hawkeye’s lips were one of his greatest achievements, probably. 

“Well, the interesting part is what happened _after_. It seems that eye witness accounts say that the Blue Squad’s ring leader was all… _clawed up_ in the face after the scuffle.” 

Ed stiffens. 

At this point, most of Mustang’s squad are listening with one ear into the conversation. Ed decides it’s about time to wrap this up. 

“So fuckin’ what?” Ed snarls, bristling. 

If anything, his heat makes Mustang smirk even deeper. As if his visage could get any closer to the devil that he truly was. 

“I should have imagined you’d have a soul with _claws_ , Fullmetal. Just wish I could have been there to see it myself.” 

Red swims through his cheeks without his permission, and his fists clench in an attempt to distract from the wave of unfamiliar fire tumbling through his stomach. 

“Well,” Ed says, “you’ll never fucking see it. And you’ll never fucking figure it out, so fuck _off_.” 

“ _Brother!_ ” 

“What? He started it! Besides, I don’t know what the bastard’s soul animal is either!” 

Ed turns golden eyes towards Mustang again, trying to avoid his brother’s pleading gaze. For a suit of armor, Alphonse was very good at conveying emotion. 

Mustang gives him a dashing grin. 

“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” 

Hawkeye sighs. Ed fumes. 

“Gah! Like I’d fucking _want_ to know what your soul animal is! You’re probably like, a fucking platapus or something. Except lamer, because platypuses are actually _cool_. You’re probably a fucking fruit fl—” 

Ed rants all the way out as Al pushes him away from Mustang’s office. 

Blessed silence. 

And then, 

“Did you have to rile him up, sir?” Hawkeye says without sparing Mustang a glance. 

The flame alchemist shrugs. “I do what I can, Hawkeye— and really, it is too easy to get him that way. Jokes aside, I am rather curious as to what Fullmetal’s soul animal is.” 

Hawkeye _hmm’s_. 

“They say one’s soul animal is a reflection of the foundations of one’s character, sir” Hawkeye muses. 

“Oh? Then yours is quite befitting, in the literal sense.” 

Hawkeye sighs for no less than the third time that day in his presence.

“I’ve told you, mine’s a _falcon_ , sir. Not a hawk.” 

“Apples and oranges,” Mustang responds. 

“But anyways,” Hawkeye says, “I admit, I am somewhat curious as well, sir.”

Curious, indeed. 

\---

Human souls are fickle. From conception, humans are constantly moving, tumbling, struggling through life, their souls ever-changing. Souls are a delicate thing, yet souls are what define humans from other forms of life. 

As humans have souls, so do animals. It is said that one’s soul animal, the animal that their very being resonates with, are the other side of the coin that makes up a human. 

Souls, constantly changing— humans, constantly evolving— through this process, one’s soul animal is not quite determined until after persevering through the tumultuous journey of childhood. Until one’s soul is fully established. 

Edward Elric discovers his soul animal shortly after performing alchemy’s greatest taboo. It’s a small, vicious thing, a small animal with _claws_ , something that weighs heavy on his desire to be bigger-than-life. 

Alphonse Elric does not discover his soul animal, with his physical body being ripped away from himself at a devastatingly young age.

The Elric brothers vow to get their bodies back. Edward Elric vows to reunite Alphonse with his soul animal, wherever it may be. 

\---

Ed thinks that he should probably feel bad that he ran away from 2nd Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh. After all, they seemed like a pretty cool bunch of people, as far as adults could be, and they didn’t treat him like a little kid. 

Then again, if he hadn’t run away, he wouldn’t be standing outside of the Fifth Laboratory right now. He knew that they would uncover something else about the Philosopher Stone’s dark secrets right in the heart of this lab, that this would help them get one step closer to bringing back his brother’s body. 

There only remained one problem. 

“How are we going to get in, brother?”

Ed scanned the building, looking for ways to enter in covertly enough. If this supposedly “abandoned” place contained material so sensitive that they had a military night guard on the premises, then there surely would be some more security detail inside that frankly, Ed wanted to avoid dealing with as much as possible. 

_There._

The blonde alchemist spotted a vent, about the size of a standard mailbox, which would surely lead into the depths of the lab. Al had noticed it too. 

“It’s so small,” Al said, “I don’t think either of us would be able to fit in there. Unless,” he trailed off. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Ed grumbled, wishing it wouldn’t come down to this. 

He stepped back from the wall, feeling the unnerving tingle that ran down his spine whenever he did this. It only took a second, but he could feel his muscles molding, his bones shrinking, and his mind becoming more… _instinctual_. With a final shudder, and a twitch of his tail, he completed the seamless transformation into his soul animal. 

He turned towards Alphonse. 

“Brother….” 

Ed’s whiskers twitched. 

“You’re so cute! I don’t get why you hate this form so much— I mean, knowing you, you don’t like being so, well, _tiny_ ,” Al is interjected by Ed’s hiss, and chooses to ignore it in favor of picking up his older brother, “but it really does make me wonder what my soul animal is going to be.” 

Al removes the vent cover and gently places Ed on the ledge, making sure his four paws are safely grounded before moving away. 

Ed stares at him with glowing, golden feline eyes. 

“I’ll be fine, brother. You should go on ahead.” 

Ed hesitates for a second, unwilling to leave his younger brother behind even for an instant. Sometimes he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s in his animal form or not, but every one of his base instincts gets amped up to about a hundred when he’s like this. His normal protective stance that he takes around his brother feels more pressing now, and he would rather defend the huge armor from any possible threats out here than leave him alone. 

“Maybe I should get a pet cat. Wouldn’t that be nice?” 

Ed snorts. Al will be fine. He finally turns around, and darts off into the vents. 

\---

Inside the Fifth Laboratory, Ed finds suits of armors with souls bound to them, homunculi, and loses his metal arm. 

When he’s back out, he makes Al swear never to tell anyone how he managed to get into the lab in the first place. 

\---

The second time they go to Rush Valley, they run into a stupid prince from Xing and his somehow monumentally badass body guards. 

Ling talks his ear off about his journey across the desert, his interest in Alkahestry, and how grateful he is to the two kind Amestrians he met on his journey who have decided to foot his entire lunch bill— 

_Wait what?_ The guy is like a human vacuum! 

—and then he reveals his real interest in the Philosopher’s Stone. That’s when Ed decides it’s time to stop humoring this guy. 

“Everybody wants something, huh,” Ed mutters, “No, we can’t help you. Don’t know a thing about it.” 

That’s when the prince summons his two bodyguards, demanding information for the stone on account of wanting immortality. 

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” Ling says with a smile, even as some masked man’s kunai is at Ed’s throat. Ed thinks there’s something about Ling that he likes, something feral deep inside that he’d love to figure out if he could. He’d love to sink his fangs into Ling, just once, just to get a taste. 

Ed smirks ruefully. 

“So, is there something you want to tell me?” Ling drawls. 

“Your soul animal. What is it?” Ed asks nonchalantly, as if there isn’t a blade two inches away from his throat. 

Ling pauses. “What?” 

“Your soul animal. I’m kind of curious. Or are the Xingese more private about theirs?” Ed continues, undeterred by his lack of a response. “I think that you’re probably something with a fuckin’ cute face, something with sharp teeth.” 

The blade is directly touching his skin now, and Ed can feel a minute trickle of blood drop down his chin. Looks like Masked Bodyguard Number Two _really_ doesn’t like Ed talking to his prince like that. Still, Ed likes to play with fire, never truly learned his lesson in the past, and so he grins. 

The prince seems just as amused. He laughs, a hearty sound that suits him, and Ed thinks that he’d really love to get to know the guy more. Ah, if only he wasn’t looking for a Philosopher’s Stone. Maybe Ed would consider spending a little more time humoring the guy. 

Well, men aren’t perfect. Ed would know. 

“As much as I’d love to stick around, Ling, my brother and I don’t have time to mess with people who like to play God. Good luck with your quest for immortality, fucker,” Ed finally snarls, grabbing the kunai with his automail arm, and trying to flip the bodyguard on his ass.

Unfortunately for Ed, it seemed that the Xingese fighters were no less than skilled acrobats with a keen battle sense sharper than their knives. The masked thugs manage to knock both Al and Ed down. 

Well. That just wouldn’t do. 

“If a fight’s what you want, then a fight’s what you’re going to get!” Ed shouts, clapping his hands and transmuting some metal along a building’s piping into a sharp rod. He follows hot in pursuit after his masked man, while Al takes on the other one. 

The masked bodyguard is swift, her fighting style unfamiliar to any that Ed has ever seen. Still, he’s not harder to defeat than _teacher_ , so Ed isn’t too worried. 

But he still didn’t understand why they would go this far just for some information. 

“What the hell is that idiot prince of yours thinking,” Ed says, dodging the various stabs of the kunai. “And why are you following him?” 

At the words “idiot prince”, the guy suddenly becomes messy, lunging at Ed with a sloppy punch that the shorter man is easily able to dodge and retaliate with a heavy kick of his own. 

“Hey, I landed one— _oof_ ,” Ed’s excitement is marred by his assailant’s quick recovery and swift kick. Ed lands on his head, wincing as he uprights himself. 

_That’s gonna leave a bruise,_ he laments. But, there’s a flare of hope in him. He knows that this guy loses it when he insults Ling, and he knows just how to trap a wild animal. Putting those two things together, it shouldn’t be too hard to immobilize this guy! 

Of course, things go south when Ed breaks the guy’s mask and realizes, _oh shit, this is a girl_ , and she completely wrecks his already tearing-apart-at-the-seams automail arm, and pulls out a fucking _bomb_ of all things— 

Twin explosions go off in Rush Valley. 

Rubble, rubble, all there’s left is rubble and Ed’s arm at the top of the pile, and will she fall for it? Will she grab his arm— 

_Snap!_

The unmasked bodyguard grabs his severed automail arm from the pile, activating the human-sized rabbit trap that Ed had managed to spring last minute. The rope held the warrior suspended in air, immobilized. 

“Hey girlie!” Ed yelled, grabbing his arm. Winry was going to _so_ kill him after all of this was done. Maybe he should just introduce Winry to Ling and pin the blame on him. See if his princely status and stupid bodyguards could save him from the volcanic force that is an angered Winry Rockbell. Ed shuddered at the thought. 

“You could have really killed someone with that bomb, y’know! You’re lucky it was just me,” Ed grumbled, staring at the girl. 

“But how? You severed your own arm?” the girl said, thrashing her in bonds. 

“I spent a fair amount of time hunting rabbits as a kid. You’re not that different,” Ed said. The girl reddened at this, clearly not liking the comparison. “Now, would you tell me why you’r— _holy FUCK—_ ”

Ed jumped back as the girl transformed into her soul animal, slipping easily out of the trap with the transformation. And fuck, if Ed had thought Ling would have fangs, he should have _known_ this girl would too. A thin, scaly viper with sharp, pearly white fangs, appeared on top of the rubble. Her scales were the deepest shade of royal emerald, and when the light caught them just correct, Ed thought they had an almost bluish tinge to them. 

Super cool. 

Also, those fangs seemed super deadly. 

“W-wait, wait, wait, hold up, you lost fair and square so there’s no need to go hissing about like this— _aw, shit,_ ” Ed cursed as the snake slithered closer to him, clearly looking for a surrender. 

Well. 

Ed barely stood a chance against her using his human senses, so there was no way he would stand a chance against her superior viper senses. 

The Fullmetal Alchemist sighed. 

He really hated when it came down to this. But, he guessed, as long as no one was looking. 

A shudder ran through his spine as he transformed, and his automail ports ached like anything. 

Soon, he was at eye level with the viper. The viper blinked momentarily, and Ed would have laughed if he could in this form. Even the stoic bodyguard was surprised at his soul animal, _of course_. 

He blinked back. His whiskers twitched. His ears flicked in the snake’s direction. Ed could practically _taste_ the next move that the prince’s bodyguard would make, and his small body bunched in anticipation. 

The viper lunged. 

Ed was ready. 

\---

“Brother!”

“Oh, hey, Al!” 

By the time Al comes back, holding the other masked bodyguard underarm (who, when unmasked, turned out to be a strangely unassuming old man), Ed is back in his human form, holding the viper gently in his hand. 

_This would be easier if she hadn’t completely busted my automail arm._

The fight between them in their animal forms hadn’t been a long one, since Ed had a particularly vicious streak when he was in that form. He had sunk his teeth shallowly in multiple spots on the snake, darting back before the viper would have the chance to do the same. His sharp eyes and ears let him know where the girl was even when she wasn’t in sight, and eventually, he let the blood loss do the job. After all, snakes have even less blood to expend than humans. 

Of course, he felt a little guilty about it when the snake finally slowed down enough for Ed to turn back into a human without the worry of being bitten back. 

And he felt _really_ bad when he was able to pick her up with no effort. 

So, he did what any gentleman would do (and yes, even he could be a gentleman too, thank you very much), and he ripped a piece of cloth from his undershirt, tying up the snake in the various wounds on her body. 

“O-kay! Good work guys!” Ling popped up from seemingly nowhere. He was waving his hand without a care, that stupid dopey smile on his face. Ed hated how much he kind of liked that smile. 

“Why you— what are you so chipper about?” Ed stalks closer to him, careful not to jostle the poor snake on his arm too much. He wasn’t a monster, after all. 

“You guys have got some pretty impressive skills! I know, why don’t you work for me, and together we can take over this country?” 

Ed snorted. 

“You really do just talk out of your ass, don’t you? Y’know Ling, you might be better off going back to Xing than sticking around here,” he muses. “Also, um. Sorry about this, I guess.” 

He gently gestures to the snake in his hand, blinking at him with wide eyes. Ling notices, and all traces of a smile drop off his face. 

“Lan Fan!” He takes the snake carefully from Ed, worry cresting over his features. 

_Finally, an expression other than dopy. It’s kinda cute_ , Ed thinks to himself. Of course, he’d never say that aloud to the prince, ever, in a million years. 

Ed clears his throat. 

“She’s fine, really, I just got a little carried away fighting in our other forms. But once she transforms back, the wounds will just be tiny scratches, I promise.” 

Ling gives him an indescribable look. It’s unnerving, coming from the normally jovial prince, and Ed feels like he’s looking directly through his soul. It made Ed feel… awkward. 

He tended to ramble in awkward situations. 

“That’s not to say she didn’t get in a couple a’ good blows in! I mean, just take a look at my arm, yeah? It’s fuckin’ busted, which sucks ass, so feel free to leave us alone for the rest of your life ok?” 

The prince shook his head, the words having no effect. 

“You’re an interesting one, Amestrian.” The prince stares at him, before grinning again. “Sure you don’t wanna join our team?”

Ed sighed. “Not today, no thank you. Now fuck off, why don’t you?” 

Ed is suddenly aware of the townspeople around them, a huge crowd of animosity, demanding for them to fix the city, clean up the mess they made, and pay back the huge restaurant bill Ling had left them. 

Turning around to pin the blame on Ling, he found that the prince and his envoy really had fucked off, like he’d told them to. 

Well, fuck. 

\---

When it’s all over, when he’s fought the good fight and gotten his brother back, when Mustang has his vision back and when everything is right with the world, he finds himself meeting with the Colonel bastard more and more often. 

They’re at a bar this time, and Ed has finally left behind his teenage years. He’s seen the west, he’s discovered their secrets, discovered the magic of a world without alchemy, and he develops theories that reach far beyond what he’d discovered in his youth. He thinks that he can turn equivalent change on its head any day, and that the Truth would yank another one of his limbs for even thinking so, but he still does anyway. 

For all that he’s seen and lived through, he’s still never had a legal drink though. There are some adventures that only come with time, and Ed thinks that he’s waiting long enough, has become an adult over and over, and has long deserved this moment. 

And if the Colonel bastard wanted to be there to celebrate it with him, then that was just fine by Ed. 

“Fullmetal,” Mustang says in that infuriatingly smooth voice of his, the one that’s soft and sweet and yet calm all at once. 

He’s in his civvies, all dark shades of dapper clothing that somehow fit him so well. He takes off his coat to reveal a white button up covered with a tan grey vest, smoothly ironed. To top it all off, a loose deep blue tie sat snugly. He slides into the seat next to Ed at the bar. Edward wondered how he hadn’t yet been snatched up by some lady yet. 

(He liked to ignore the small spark of hope that bubbled in his chest every time he saw Mustang and his ringless fingers.) 

“You can’t call me that anymore. I told you, I quit the military. I’m not anybody’s dog, bastard.” 

Mustang smiles like Ed had just called him by a pet name. 

“I thought you wanted to see me rise to the top?” 

He takes his coat off. Ed swallows. 

“God, don’t quote me on that sentimental shit.” 

The bartender chooses that moment to slam two mugs of the deepest golden frothy liquid that Ed had ever seen in front of him. He looked up only to meet the laugh-line wrinkled eyes of none other than Jean Havoc. 

“On the house, boss,” Havoc smirked, “for the Hero of Amestris and his friend.” 

“His friend?” Mustang echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

Ed laughed at that, before lifting up his mug to Mustang, eyes shining. 

“Now, how can I toast to just being _the Hero of Amestris’s friend_?” Mustang groused good-naturedly. 

Havoc guffawed, before moving on to serving another customer. 

“Then,” Mustang raised his mug as Ed spoke, “let’s toast to my first drink, and to you, the _future Fuhrer of Amestris_.” 

Mustang blinked at him, and Ed _relished_ in the momentary surprise on his face as Ed pushed forward his own mug to _clink_ with Mustang’s. It’s always a premonition of a good day when Ed gets to surprise the Colonel. 

“Now who’s getting sentimental?” Mustang smirks, sipping his drink. 

“Still you, bastard,” Ed retorts, before taking a huge swig of his. It burns down his throat like acid, and Ed hates it. He thinks that he’s going to get hammered tonight. 

“Figures that Havoc would give us what seems to be the strongest of this bar’s cleaning detergent,” Mustang mutters, and Ed snorts. 

“I think I’m going to get hammered tonight,” Ed says. 

“Lovely. How’s Al?” 

Warmth fills Ed, not just from the alcohol coursing through his blood. He loves his brother dearly, and being apart from him is like missing a limb. But Al… 

“Al’s great. He’s fucking amazing, actually. He’s thinking about traveling to Xing, which I’m all for, but I just want him to get a little more meat on his bones before he leaves home.” Ed takes another gulp of the golden beer, and thinks that it’s easy to talk to Mustang these days. He has the luxury of blaming the alcohol, this time around. 

“He doesn’t know what his soul animal is yet, but me n’ Winry think it’s gonna be some kind of cat. Probably a big cat or something fluffy.” 

Trisha Elric, Ed still remembers, was a lynx. She was on the smaller side, which is probably where Ed gets it from, and she had the brownest pelt, chestnut like her hair. Ed rarely saw Trisha in that form ever, but he remembers she once changed when Al was a baby and had managed to almost tumble out of his crib. Her feline reflexes had saved Al from a nasty accident that day. 

And then of course, there was the fact that the elder of the Elric brothers happened to be from the cat family himself. Edward figured Al would follow suit. 

“Oh? Why’s that?” 

Ed stares at him. Mustang takes a sip from his mug. The epitome of chill. 

“When he had that armor, he picked up stray kittens like it was his job,” Ed deadpanned. He drained the rest of his mug, heat blossoming down his chest until it pooled in his stomach. Mustang would have his work cut out for him, later. 

“...I see,” Mustang says, an eyebrow twitching as Ed signals Havoc for one more drink. Ed likes that Mustang doesn’t _push_ , but sometimes wishes he would show some teeth once in a while. 

“Y’know, I’m still not telling you what mine is, bastard.” Ed hands Mustang another drink, despite him not having finished his first one. 

Mustang smiles even so. Ed blames the red that’s surely painted his cheeks by now on the alcohol. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. 

“I know, Edward. Same time next week?” 

\---

Ed first meets Greed, the Greed before GreedLing, in a shady pub called _The Devil’s Nest_. He is not, in fact, of legal age to drink at this time. 

But he is very, very angry. 

For one, these goons had just kidnapped his brother. That already got them on his shit-list, whether they were down-on-their luck chimera or not. 

For two, it looks like Greed was a _homunculus_ , one of those nasty fuckers. Ed really didn’t like that. He asks Ed to teach him how to transmute a soul, spewing some bullshit about how Al’s situation seemed like the ideal one for him— _what’s not great about having an immortal body, after all?_ Idiots. 

And third, to top it off, the chimera were being fuckin’ _weird_ with Ed. 

“You kidnapped my brother and you wanna trade secrets with me?! I’ll crush you creeps, I’ll smash you— wh— hey, knock it off!” 

Ed’s loud tirade petered off as the guy with the katana and spiky hair suddenly sniffed at his throat. He practically bristled at the feeling, could feel his phantom hackles raising. What the hell was up with this guy? 

“Are you even listening to me? What the hell!” 

The guy’s sword was completely sheathed, that wasn’t the problem, but it looked like he was incessant in burying his sniffer into Ed’s neck, which _freaked_ Ed out a little. He tried to lean away, only to be blocked by the stocky one with grey hair. 

“Dolcetto, you smell something you like?” Greed smirked. Ed was going to punch the smile right off his face, along with his damned Ouroboros tattoo, right after he figured out what this guy’s issue was. 

“You reek,” he whined, “of _cat_.” 

Ed stared at him. The _fuck_? 

“They’re chimeras, brother! Don’t underestimate them,” Al said from the edge of the room. His voice was drowned out by the sound of Greed’s laughter. Of course the fucking homunculus would find all of this hilarious. 

Dolcetto tried to inch closer to Ed, as if Ed wouldn’t notice. 

“Don’t get too excited now, dog-boy,” the golden-haired alchemist deadpanned. 

Dolcetto grinned. 

This might be harder than Ed thought. 

The man lunged for Ed, arms clasping around thin air, as Ed danced out of his way. A low whistle came from inside Al’s armor. 

“Looks like you even have cat-like reflexes, kid!”

_Was there a woman in Al?_

Ed’s head whipped towards Al, towards the source of the sound. A fatal mistake. 

Broad arms wrapped around his torso and lifted him up into the air. He screeched, and flailed, but to no avail. 

“Let me go! Who d’ya think you’re picking up so easily? You thinkin’ I’m so tiny I’m a microscopic half-pint that you gotta pick up by the scruff? I’ll kick you where it hurts, I swear, if you don’t put me down in the next goddamn minute!” 

“Wow, he really does sound like a cat, doesn’t he?” Greed says, amusement running through his eyes. 

“Dolcetto.” The bulky man with white hair finally speaks. What was he? A cow? A bull? Ed didn’t give a fuck. “You can’t just pick up strays like that.” 

That sounded like a familiar line that used to come from Ed _himself_ , berating Al for picking up yet another stray kitten and trying to hide the poor thing in his armor. Ah, how the tables have turned. 

“Yeah, listen to your friend, why don’t ya,” Ed threw his elbow back, just nearly clipping Dolcetto on the side of his skull. 

“Can we keep him? Greed?” 

The man’s eyes are shining and Ed finally manages to pry his hands off of him. As soon as the last finger is off, he jumps back, hissing cursing out at the dog-chimera. He tries not to think about how his behavior inadvertently makes him more cat-like. 

“Tell you what, kid,” Greed says from where he’s leaning against the wall casually, “if you tell us the secret to immortality, I won’t hand you over to my crew as their new chew-toy.” 

“I resent that,” a woman’s voice came from inside Al’s armor. 

“Yeah, I guess snakes don’t really need chew toys, do they?” Greed shrugged. As if that was the real problem here. 

Ed looks at Dolcetto. The guy’s so excited, Ed can practically see a tail wagging. 

“I thought dogs are supposed to hate cats,” Ed spits, still wary from having been grabbed. 

“Cats are _cute_ ,” the guy says. Laughter echoes from within Al’s armor. The snake woman must be having a field day. 

“Hey, I thought you guys were, uh, trying to kidnap me. I didn’t know you wanted Brother too.” Al pipes up, bless his soul. 

Greed pats his armor’s shoulder. 

“Plans change, kid. Besides, I _am_ the embodiment of Greed. Tell me one thing in this world that I _don’t_ want! Haha!” His knockoff supervillain laughter is really starting to grate on Ed’s ears. “But seriously, wrap it up with the pipsqueak already, okay? Beat him up, collar him, whatever you’d like. Just make it quick!” 

Ed grits his teeth. _Cute? They think he’s cute?_

Was this really how his story ended? Edward Elric, the country’s youngest state alchemist, was going to become domesticated in a shady pub because of a fucking cat lover and his chimera buddies, plus one homunculus? 

No way. 

He looks Greed straight in the eye and bares his teeth. 

“I’ll show you _cute_ , damn it!” 

He feels the familiar tug of his muscles, the tightening of his bones, the ache in his automail ports. There’s miniscule snaps and realignments, and suddenly he’s looking up at them from down below. 

He can hear their heartbeat, his eyes can pick up on every movement. He smells… 

He smells _dog_. Excited dog. Not Den, no not Den… a different dog. _Very_ excited. 

Ed hisses, bracing his body to fight. His four paws are grounded, claws out. His tail fluffs up as he takes in the humans surrounding him. 

“Holy shit.” Greed’s jaw dropped. “That _is_ cute. Roa. Roa, tell me you agree.” 

The big one, Roa, nods. 

Dolcetto, the dog-one, stares at Ed. Ed’s golden eyes flicker back towards him, as he moves towards Ed. 

“I’m… I’m… I’m never letting you go!” 

The man lunges for Ed, hearts in his eyes. He reeks of overexcited, slobbery _dog_. 

Ed springs at him. 

\---

He ends up getting his brother back. Greed honestly never could have seen this one coming. 

\---

Ed, decidedly, does not like the North. 

He hates Briggs, and yeah Olivier is cool (and utterly terrifying), but the biggest problem for him was the _cold_. A lot of people are surprised when they find out that Ed prefers the country life of Resembool rather than the hustle and bustle that places like Central City and Rush Valley offer. 

No, all Ed needs is to be surrounded by his family, wrapped in a warm blanket, and sat in front of a fireplace. He’s content with just that. He loves the warm Spring weather in the East and the lazy summers they spend down by the river near Granny Pinako’s house. The fireflies that slowly come out when the sky is painted purple. The smell of stew in the air as he, Al, and Winry make their way home from a long, exhausting day of play. 

So. The cold? Not Ed’s thing. 

To top it off, he had just found out about the military’s corruption, the fact that oh yeah, King Bradley’s a homunculus, Winry’s technically hostage, and now there’s this crazy guy Kimblee who wants him to create a “blood crest” at Briggs. 

And now, he’s fighting the asshole. The same one that’s killed all those Ishvalans, the explosives-obsessed alchemist who would probably sit back and watch the world burn with a _smile_. 

Ed manages to knock away the Philosopher’s stone from the Crimson Alchemist’s grasp, and he even manages to slice through the palm of Kimblee’s hand, rendering his alchemic tattoo there useless. 

But then, Kimblee’s eyes harden. There’s a manic glee in his glowing red eyes. It reminds Ed of a hyena. Always laughing, always scavenging, so _so_ bloodthirsty. Never satiated. 

“So you’re determined not to kill? How admirable of you. You do realize the advantage it gives your opponent though, don’t you?” 

Ed’s blood turns to ice. 

“Instead of finishing me off, after all, you’ve given me a second chance to _kill you_.” 

Kimblee opens his mouth and a red jewel-like stone rolls down, stopped just before his sharp canines. 

A Philosopher’s Stone. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

In slow motion, the stone falls down, down, _down_ into his other palm, into the other circle that Ed had not sliced through. He was going to, without a doubt, let loose a huge explosion. 

Debris, debris everywhere, metal shards from the building flying in every which way. He would fall from the platform he was on to the one below, surely. There was no way to know what would kill him first— the shrapnel from the blast, or his spine contorting in inhumane ways as he snapped it on the way down. 

But. 

Even so, Ed knew he could stick the landing. He could, he really could if he just— 

Kimblee lets loose the explosion, in a flurry of red lightning and chemical energy. 

Ed snaps. 

And then he falls. 

\---

When he comes to, he’s dizzy. The world is much bigger around him whenever he’s in this form, it always is, but it’s not intimidating. Just an inconvenience. 

In cases like this, it’s an advantage. After all, cats always land on their feet, don’t they? 

He flinches as a daunting piece of green rebar falls violently with a _clang_ on the ground from the hole created by Kimblee above them. Ed shivers, feeling his fur stand up along his spine. That could have really done some damage if it had landed on him as a human. Maybe, it would have even killed him. 

He gingerly pads forward, testing his paws for any damage. He winces as his back right leg collapses under the pressure. Sprained, maybe even fractured, from landing at an awkward angle and from such a huge height. Figures. 

“Kim...blee…” 

Ed stops in his tracks, ears flicking. 

_It’s the chimeras._

He smells the bigger cat, the one that’s a _lion_ , sees them trapped under the rubble. They worked for Kimblee. They were his bodyguards. 

And now, they needed Ed’s help. 

Clenching his jaw tightly, Ed continues to limp forward. His entire _body_ aches from the movement. The fight with Kimblee stripped Ed down to his last reserves of energy. He’s sure that if he transforms back now, he’ll just pass the fuck out. That’s why… that’s why he has to figure a way out of this mess in _this_ form. 

But how was he going to move all of it out of the way like this? 

Ed stops in front of the lion. 

He pushes his head forward, ears flattened back, tiny skull pushing against the lion’s mane. 

“A kitten?” the lion-chimera grumbles. “What…” he heaves, expending effort with the breath because of the weight of the rubble crushing him, “What are you doing?” 

Ed looks at Heinkel pointedly. He mewls. 

“Heinkel? Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear a cat?” 

Heinkel blinks. Darius blinks. Ed mewls again. 

“ … call me crazy, but I think this is the Fullmetal kid.” 

“What? Are you serious? How do you know?” 

“Call it animal instinct. I think he’s trying to get us out of here.” 

Ed rubs his head against the lion’s once more. Affirmative. 

“He’s trying to help us?” confusion laces the Gorilla’s voice. And then exasperation. “That’s great and all, but how the hell is going to help us if he’s like _that_?” 

The golden-eyed feline hisses.

Heinkel chuckles breathily, despite being trapped under what looks like a ton of scrap metal. “I think you hit a sore-spot, Darius.” 

Ed backs away from Heinkel at a snail pace. His leg isn’t doing him any favors right now. What little he had left of his stamina was depleting. Darius was right, how _was_ he going to help them? 

He hadn’t spent enough time experimenting with this form, a regret he’d later have to rectify. He wasn’t even sure if he could perform alchemy as a soul animal, and he wasn’t some sort of huge tank like a lion or a gorilla. If he’d attempted to perform alchemy, he’d need something powerful, something that acted as a conduit between his soul animal and his human corporeal form and his gate of truth. Something that could create the link between all three entities and complete the circle without him having to clap with his hands. 

Ed turns around. A glint of red catches his eye. 

Something like a _Philosopher’s stone_. 

There, sitting on top of another pile of rubble— the diamond shaped amalgamation of souls, red like the blood that had spilled to create it, Kimblee’s original stone before he had revealed his trump card. It sat there, calling to Ed. 

Ed obliged. 

It was tiring work, climbing up the pile of rubble with claws haphazardly unsheathed as he tried to get any sort of grip without further twisting his agonized leg. Finally, he managed to get to the top of the rubble, to grasp the red stone between his teeth. Energy buzzed through it, along with agony, and Ed could feel it all emanating from the stone. It was _horrible_. 

His vision began to fuzz at the edges. He dragged himself down the mountain of rubble (anything seemed _mountainous_ when he was this small), and let out a pained whimper as his last step twisted his back leg further. 

“Kid?” The lion rasped, “Are you… did you leave?” 

Ed put the stone down and meowed once, shakily, to indicate his presence. 

“Still tryin’ ta help us, huh.” The gorilla said, eyes closing under the rubble. Ed picked up the stone once more, and hurriedly limped over to the two. He couldn’t just leave them to suffocate and _die_ here. He wasn’t Kimblee. He didn’t see these two as expendable, regardless of their status as chimera or not. 

Now the question is, how? How can he use the stone as a conduit between himself and his other form, how can he reach the gate that he’s not sure this soul, this animal soul, is able to access? He needs to create the link. He needs to… he needs to _become_ a Philosopher’s stone to harness its power in this way. He is a single-souled Philosopher’s stone and he would be able to— if he’d just—

Ed concentrates. He stops just in front of the two chimera trapped underneath the rubble, and then he _bites_ down. 

Many things happen in the following instant. 

The stone in his mouth _glows_ bright crimson red, illuminating his golden feline eyes beautifully. The metal bars and concrete are pushed out of the way, leaving the chimera free to get up with barely a scratch on them. 

Ed was bone-tired. 

The stone rolls out of his mouth and his back leg finally gives out. 

He’s lying, heaving tiny breaths, heart fluttering in his small ribcage like a butterfly. 

Heinkel gives Darius a hand up. Ed can’t be bothered to move. 

“He saved us,” Darius murmurs. “A reckless idiot. He saved us after we worked for Mr. Kimblee.” 

“Stop calling that bastard ‘mister’. He’s not our boss, not since he almost killed us.” 

Heinkel looks down at the Fullmetal alchemist in his soul animal form. He’s small, his breaths barely move his body, and he’s unbearably _vulnerable_ like this. Heinkel will never admit it, but he almost feels familiar with this form, what, with both of them being cats. It’s probably how he knew that Ed was _Ed_ when the cat first meowed at him. 

“He’s cute,” Darius says. “How can something that looks like this be so…” 

“Loud? Aggressive?” 

“Yeah. Anyways, now what do we do with him?” 

Heinkel leans down and picks the small kitten up gently, as tenderly as he can with his monstrously enlarged hands with sharp lion’s claws. Ed sneezes through his labored breaths. He can feel the heartbeat fluttering against the confines of the kitten-like creature’s bones, warmth radiating from the small body like a beacon. 

“We take him to a real doctor. And then we celebrate _our_ freedom.” 

He cups the alchemist in his palms, keeping the feline close to him. He has no intention of letting Ed die like this, not when he worked himself to exhaustion trying to save the two chimera. 

Darius grinned. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

\---

There’s a lot of women in Ed’s life that he considers integral to his very being. 

Trisha Elric, of course. She’s the warmth that he’ll never be able to feel again, a soft hazy memory which he wishes he could grasp with his own hands. She’s the catalyst, the starting point of the Elric brothers’ pain-filled journey, and sometimes, Ed wonders what he would give for a chance to see her again. He wonders. 

Then there’s Winry; the warmth that’s still alive and breathing, the childhood friend who Ed could not imagine his life without. She gave him a leg to stand on, to fight to live and walk forward, and she gave him an arm to defend himself with. Ed lives by the tenants of equivalent exchange, but sometimes, just _sometimes_ , he thinks that he’ll never be able to repay Winry. But sometimes, he thinks that’s okay. Her hands were meant for healing, and her smile was meant for tipping equivalent exchange on it’s ass, so it’s okay. 

Izumi Curtis, Granny Pinako, Paninya, Sheshka, Maria Ross, the list just goes _on_. There’s no doubt in his mind that Ed is surrounded by wonderful, talented women who have molded his life irrevocably, who have helped set him on the path he travels now. 

There’s Riza Hawkeye. 

With calculating brown eyes, a sharp no-nonsense demeanor, and the ability to handle _Mustang_ (seriously, she deals with _Roy Mustang_ ) on the daily, Ed knows that she’s a force to be reckoned with. He truly respects her. 

He likes to think that she respects him too. 

After all, she doesn’t treat Ed and Al like kids. She doesn’t give half-assed answers or cover-ups to their questions because she thinks they can’t handle it. She’s honest, she’s real, and Ed can tell she sympathizes with the Elric brothers. Not pities, but _sympathizes_. 

Ed appreciates that. 

So when he gets in a fight with Scar, makes Winry cry one more time, and realizes he’ll never be able to take a human life with his own hands if he can help it— the first person he goes to is Riza Hawkeye. 

She invites him in. 

“Looks like things got pretty serious,” Riza says after sitting him down, after he gives her back the gun. The gun that she had given him to protect himself. The very gun that he couldn’t bring himself to shoot. 

“I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pull the trigger, I mean.” Ed says. He doesn’t meet her eyes. 

Riza looks at him. There’s no judgement in her eyes. 

“Tell me what happened.” 

So he does. He tells her about how Scar had killed Winry’s parents, how Winry had overheard because Ed was a big _stupid idiot_ , how she had grabbed a gun from some useless MP and almost shot Scar. How he had to take the gun from her hands, how she had sobbed violently with grief. Grief at her parents’ death, grief at not being able to avenge them, pure, unfettered grief. 

But Riza. Riza turns the situation on its head, and there’s something about that which reminds Ed of Winry. 

“You’re just saying this because you’re alive. You need to stay focused on living. That’s how you’ll help Winry. That’s how you’ll help your brother. I know it’s hard, but _focus_.” 

_Focus, Edward_. 

Ed hears her, loud and clear. 

And then she tells him about Ishval. 

About the murders she committed, about the scores of people, innocent _civilians_ that she shot. The bloody war that saw state alchemists being used like human weapons. She talked about Mustang, how Mustang’s fire alchemy was particularly suited for the task. How Riza promised to follow him into hell at a moment’s notice. 

How Mustang aims to be Fuhrer. How he aims to restore democracy. How he wants those who were praised as heroes during the Ishvalan Extermination to be brought to trial as war criminals. 

It’s a paradox. How does he aim to be Fuhrer, just to bring light to this country, just to bring down his eventual downfall? 

He’s the Hero of the Ishvalan War, after all. Does he really intend to stab himself in the heel?

“Isn’t that just like _suicide_?” Ed breathed. His mind raced. 

For all he despised the bastard, for all he ragged on him, he didn’t… he didn’t want to see him _imprisoned_. Hated, _loathed_ by his own people. Was that really the future that Mustang sought? 

“But,” a frantic note in his voice that he didn’t want to acknowledge, “the homunculi were the one pulling the strings!” 

“Even if they were the ones responsible for it, _we_ were the ones who carried it out.” 

There’s steel in Riza’s voice. There’s no room for argument. Ed deflates. 

Then she smiles. It reminds Ed of Trisha, just a little. 

“You don’t have time to worry about us, Ed. You need to look after yourself, and you need to get your brother’s body back. You better get to it. You’ve got plenty of people waiting for that day.” 

Ed leans back in his chair. It’s all a little too much to process. The Colonel bastard wants to be Fuhrer, wants to change the entire foundation of this country and bring down the military, the very military that he was able to gain power through. He doesn’t want to brush his crimes under the table like dust, but rather, he’d face it head on and face the consequences. Moreover, he wants to make things _right_. 

Ed thinks about the Ishvalan war, how it had affected not only Ishval but also those living in the East of Amestris, like his very own family in Resembool. Winry’s parents were just collateral damage, and for what? For a _nothing_ war. 

And that would be on Roy Mustang’s head for the rest of his life. And he would spend the rest of his life trying to right his wrongs, instead of running away.

Just like how Ed would gladly spend the rest of his life looking for answers, if it one day meant he could have his brother back. 

Ed thinks that he understands Mustang more than he lets on. 

“Yeah. You’re right,” Ed murmurs. 

He doesn’t normally let himself dream about the future too often. It distracts him from the present, from his current goals and struggles.

But Hawkeye’s words ring in his head. 

_You’ve got plenty of people waiting for that day_. 

He swallows. 

“When we— when he gets his body back,” Ed starts, almost hesitant, “he doesn’t let it show, not all the time. But I know Al. I know him. And I know he’s _itching_ to meet his soul animal.” 

Just another thing that Ed had taken away from his brother prematurely. 

Hawkeye’s expression never wavers from that comforting, placid smile. It’s a relief, Ed thinks. He doesn’t know if he could handle even a modicum of pity from the Lieutenant. 

“During the war, if there’s one thing I can say I’m proud of, is that the Colonel and I both refused to use our soul animals in combat.” 

Ed blinked. He hadn’t even considered that being an _option_. Somehow, bringing in your soul animal in a war as bloody as Ishval seemed just _wrong_. 

“Mine’s a falcon. Not a hawk, as most people assume,” she chuckled, despite the macabre subject, “and I could have flown through the skies and scoped out the area for my troop leader. Falcons have incredible eyesight and hunting skills. I could have given us a sense of advantage.” 

“But you didn’t,” Ed said.

“But I didn’t,” Hawkeye echoed. 

“Why?” 

“I was… selfish. My soul animal was the only part of me that wasn’t yet tarnished. You shouldn’t fight a war half-heartedly, that’s just plain suicide, I _knew_ that. But, even so, I wanted to keep some part of myself clean. I just wanted to hold onto something.” 

And Ed understood. Soul animals were a part of one’s very soul, and Hawkeye didn’t want her entire soul tarnished, even if a part of it had crumbled away during the war. He understood, he really did. 

“And the Colonel?” 

Hawkeye smiled, but there was something sad about the gesture. 

“His soul animal is a vicious thing. Vicious, glorious, deadly— these are all the words that other soldiers had called his animal. He never preferred to use it to kill, however. I never asked why. I assume his flame alchemy was quite enough. He didn’t need to get up close and personal to take the lives of Ishvalans.” 

_Vicious. Deadly._

Just like Ed. Even if he didn’t look it. 

His curiosity piqued, he couldn’t help but ask, “The Colonel, huh?” 

Her brown eyes twinkled with knowing. Ed really couldn’t get over how much that look reminded him of Trisha Elric. 

“Oh, right. Edward, you still don’t know his soul animal, do you?” 

The Fullmetal alchemist stiffened. 

“Not like I really care, or anything,” he hedged, even as his curiosity grew. Just what _was_ the bastard? 

She chuckled again. It was a light, airy noise. Ed rather liked it. 

“I’m surprised. From what I’ve heard, it’s similar to _yours_ , claws and all.” 

A flush creeped up Ed’s chest without his bidding. 

“He still doesn’t know what I am, and he’s never gonna! Not until…” Ed searches for the right words. 

The bastard wants to become Fuhrer, does he?

“Not until he becomes Fuhrer, so _there_!” 

Hawkeye blinks, surprised. 

Then she laughs. 

Ed is dumbfounded. 

“Wh— hey, what’s so funny?” Ed truly will never understand women. 

“Nothing!” she says, and even Black Hayate looks like he’s mirthful. “It’s just, I think that he’d be happy to hear you say that, Ed.” 

The flush creeps up his neck. Ed wishes he could squish it back down.

He groans and makes to get up. Thinking about the Colonel bastard _really_ gets his blood boiling. 

As he thanks Riza for the tea and the talk, and is about to leave her apartment, she leaves him with one last truth bombshell. 

“Oh, by the way Edward,” Riza says. Ed turns around. 

“The Colonel is a black panther. Rather fitting, I think.” 

And with that, Riza closes the door, leaving Ed alone with his thoughts. 

His tumultuous, traitorous thoughts. 

A _black panther_ of all things. 

He’s a cat. 

A black panther. 

… 

Ed swallowed. 

_Fuck_. 

\---

When Ed had gotten his soul animal, he was bereft of two limbs and a brother. 

He was near hopeless, eyes hollow, small body barely taking up any space in the spare wheelchair Granny Pinako had lying around. 

He didn’t know how to describe how he knew it had manifested. Most people don’t. But, it felt like a part of him that had always been missing had suddenly appeared. It was a jarring feeling, having gained a new part of him just as he had lost an arm and a leg. Disorienting, really. He didn’t like thinking about it, not with the gut-wrenching guilt that would fill the pit of his stomach after he realized that Al wouldn’t get a chance to know his soul animal, not now, not after his mortal body was _gone_. 

And then Mustang had came. He stormed in like a blaze of fire, not stopping for anything in its path. He knew of the sin they commited, and he still grabbed Ed by the collar. He didn’t look at Ed like he was a monster. He looked at him like they were _equals_. 

He gave Ed another shot at living. 

_With your skills, there’s no doubt the military could use you. Under my command, you would have access to all the materials necessary to even begin to hope to get your bodies back. The choice is yours._

Mustang had seen fire in Ed’s eyes, and he wanted to keep it burning. Whether it was for his own gain or not, it had benefited Ed in the end. 

But first, before Ed could even dream of joining the military and discovering Central’s heinous underbelly, uncovering secrets beyond his wildest belief, he had to endure automail surgery. 

In a word, it was _horrible_. 

His bond with his soul animal was still shaky at best. It was normal for newly manifested kids like himself to have a rather rough grasp on controlling the transformation, but automail surgery just exacerbated the awfulness of the whole situation. 

He managed to stay human through the port installation process with no small amount of effort, thanks to the meager painkillers that Granny had left from her surgeon days. 

The recovery process, however, was no joke. 

He lay on their old guest bed, his small body barely taking up any space on it. Al stayed in the room always, always, even though he didn’t want Al to see him like this. Eventually, he manages to convince Al to get out, to help Granny and Winry with whatever they need. Shivering, near-delirious with fever, his phantom limbs aching in places that shouldn’t have been able to affect him anymore. Multiple times his sweat would soak through the sheets, multiple times he would sleep fitfully through the day, trying to regain just a modicum of what stamina he had before. 

And then he couldn’t keep a grasp on his form. 

It starts on a sunny day. Winry comes to check up on him, a fresh bowl of water and rags in her hands. 

She drops it all, and it comes crashing down onto the wooden tiles with a _thud_. 

“Granny!” She screams. 

Granny Pinako runs into the room, Al right behind her. 

“It’s… Ed’s _gone_ ,” Winry gasps, looking at the sheets notably devoid of one Edward Elric. 

Granny walks towards the crumpled sheets. She pulls them back to reveal a tiny, violently shivering kitten. It’s eyes are screwed shut, and it’s barely making a sound. 

“Brother…” Al gasps. 

Winry lets out a sob at the pitiful sight. 

Granny’s fists clench, but she doesn’t say a word. She wraps him tightly in the sheets. 

_This too shall pass_. 

After that, it was a staple in Ed’s recovery. Regardless of his own volition, he would accidentally transform into his soul animal, especially when he couldn’t cope with the pain. He was small, small enough to fit in Granny Pinako’s hands. 

He was a tiny, whimpering thing, mewling until Al couldn’t take it anymore. Crying out until his vocal cords went raspy. 

The worst part wasn’t the pain. The worst part was that he knew. Somehow, in his fever and pain-addled brain, he knew that seeing his body like this _killed_ Al and Winry. He knew that he was the reason Winry cried until she couldn’t shed another tear, he knew that he was the reason that Al refused to leave his side for even an instant. 

He really hated making Winry cry. 

He hated that Al didn’t even have the ability to cry for his older brother. Because _Ed_ took that away from him. 

So he withstood. 

And he prevailed. 

\---

Then Al gets his body back. 

All it took was Al sacrificing himself, Ed punching God in the face, and finally, Ed telling Hoheinheim to go fuck himself and be a useful father instead of trying to sacrifice himself for his sons before Ed himself walked into Truth’s domain to yank his brother back out. 

He loses his alchemy, but he would give so _so_ much more if it meant getting Al back. 

They wrap Al up in Mustang’s black coat (it engulfs his body, he’s so _tiny_ , so thin, so breakable) and he wakes up to the faces of those who fought for him. 

Ed would be lying if he said his throat didn’t choke up multiple times that day. 

Things go quickly after that. 

On the military front, they bring in doctors to help with the casualties. Ed doesn’t know what the fuck cover story Mustang has planned for this, but he trusts the man’s intuition, and is looking forward to the day where he gets to throw 520 cenz right in the bastard’s face. Still, Ed makes a mental note to check up on Mustang and his crew before he leaves for home. 

The Briggs soldiers have taken the biggest hit out of the military, having put themselves directly in the line of fire for a chance to take down Bradley. Olivier takes care of her people, and Ed thinks that Mustang is going to have to _work_ to get those 520 cenz back. 

Izumi and Sig clear out soon as well, but not before Izumi has gotten her fair share of having hugged Al. The look of wonder on Al’s face as he felt the warmth encasing his body was enough for Ed’s vision to blur with tears. 

And then, there’s the envoy from the East. 

Ed and Al find May Chang crying. 

“Hey! Princess Chang!” 

Ling walks up to the princess with Lan Fan at his side. Ed feels a pang of loss for Greed. 

And then Ling calls her stupid. Berates her for coming to this foreign country all on her own, only to not end up with a Philosopher’s stone. Right as May is on the verge of tears and Ed thinks he’ll let Ling know the taste of his fist once more, Ling kneels down to her level and tells her, “the Yao family will protect yours at all costs. Yours, and all of the other clans.” 

Ed shares a look with Al and smirks. The greedy homunculus bastard really rubbed off on him. 

May is furiously wiping her tears, sobbing all the while, and Ling gets up to face the Elric brothers. 

“Alright then, it’s time to go home.” Ling dons his trademark aloof smile, the same infuriating one Ed had seen when they first met in Rush Valley. Ed finds he doesn’t mind it so much now. 

“You’re leaving?” Ed responds. 

“Yeah. We need to get home so we can bury Fu.” He says. 

There’s a moment of silence.

And then, Ling’s smile deepens. 

“Although, I am rather sad, Ed.” 

Ed snorts. For being battered and bruised, tunic ripped and body clearly exhausted, Ling still found it in himself to exude the utmost level of deviousness. 

_Okay. I’ll bite._

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

Ling lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m disappointed I never got to see your _true form_ Ed.” 

Ah. So that’s what this is about. 

The prince shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve heard _so_ many things too. Greed saw it but he didn’t tell me a thing about it! He just kept _laughing_ , said I needed to see it for myself to believe it.” 

Al chuckles at Ed’s side. May Chang’s eyes are finally dried, and now she’s looking wide-eyed at Ed, as if the thought had just struck her too. 

“I’m sure you heard enough about it from Lan Fan.” Ed tries, remembering his epic fight with the girl. Her viper had truly been a force of nature. 

Ling just shrugs and Lan Fan looks away. 

_Hmm. Interesting_. 

“Actually,” May pipes up, her voice still wobbly and her impossibly big eyes trained on Ed, “I never got to see it either. What is your true form, you a-and Alphonse?” 

She stutters on her question, cheeks flushing as she asks. 

Al blinks. “Ah, I’m not sure what mine is yet. But brother’s…”

He trails off, smiling warmly at Ed. 

“I have to say, I agree with Greed’s description here. You definitely have to see it to believe it.” 

His eyes twinkled with mirth and mischief. Ed loved his brother so much, even if he can be a little shit. He pulled him closer, his grip on his brother tightening just a little. 

“Ah, but I don’t think my curiosity can be sated with just that!” 

“Tough luck, Ling.” 

Ling’s gaze turns a little sharper. If Ed hadn’t just got his brother back not less than two hours ago, maybe his guard would have been up. But as it was, he was still riding the adrenaline high and endorphins from being able to touch Al in the flesh again, and he didn’t pay heed to Ling slowly stalking closer to him, like a tiger stalking its prey. 

Ed does, however, notice when Lan Fan helps steady Al all of a sudden, taking the weight off Ed’s arms. 

Ling is all up in Ed’s personal space, his hand on the small of Ed’s back, his face looming over Ed’s. 

_How the fuck did this bastard do that so quickly?!_

“You know, Ed,” the prince’s free hand dragged its fingers down Ed’s newly returned arm, leaving a path of tingling gooseflesh. Ed shivers. 

“Th’ fuck do you want, stupid prince? ‘Cause I ain’t talkin’” Ed snaps, his face heating at the challenge that Ling Yao constantly presents. 

Infuriatingly so, Ling continues, squeezing Ed and pulling him closer. Their chests are near flush. 

Ed is about to deck this fool. 

“In Xing, it’s a well known fact: if you surprise someone well enough, you get to find out their true form, or I guess as Amestrians call it, _soul animal_. I wonder how much I can surprise you?” 

Before Ed has time to process any of that, Ling abruptly pulls him forward, and _up_. The clever hand that was on his arm rises to Ed’s face, grabbing his chin firmly, dragging their lips together for a searing kiss. 

Ed is about to protest, about to throw Ling off and deck him _so_ hard, but then Ling slips his tongue in and explores Ed’s mouth in a way that has him melting under the prince’s touch. He bites down on Ed’s lip, eliciting an embarrassing whimper from the blonde, before diving back in with a dizzying fervor. 

In the back of his mind, Ed’s pretty sure Al is closing his eyes and May Chang is staring at them jaw dropped and blushing an even more violent red than Ed is, but Ed can’t think about that right now, because— 

The hand on his back snakes further _down_ and Ed jolts with a yelp. 

The bastard had just grabbed his _ass_. 

Ed feels an involuntary tug in his bones, a phantom ache at where his automail port once was. He feels Ling smirk against his mouth before he pulls away, _knowing_ that he’s won. 

Ling holds on tight and Ed transforms. 

When it’s over, Ed is in Ling’s hands, being held underneath his front paws, leaving his hind legs dangling in the air. He’s glaring at Ling and trying to convey _bloody murder_ and other violent thoughts to the prince. 

Four sets of eyes stare at him. 

Ling blinks, almost unsure of what to do with the small life form that’s in his hands now. 

Ed snarls. 

May Chang practically has hearts in her eyes. 

“You’re so _cute_ ,” she gushes, tears fully gone. “You’re absolutely adorable, I can’t believe it’s the same person!” 

She holds up Xiao Mei at eye level with Ed. Ed hisses. Evidently, the little panda likes him better in this form, as she lets out an excited squeal and rubs against Ed’s fur. Ed tries to ward her off with his hind legs, wriggling in Ling’s arms. 

He then looks at Ling and meows furiously. 

_Fucking bastard. See what happens if you ever show your face in Amestris again! Emperor or not, I’ll kick your fucking ass to Aerugo and back, idiot prince!_

His rant was definitely lost in translation, because although Ling trembled the more Ed tried to threaten him, something told Ed that it wasn’t because of fear. 

“Gods above,” Ling finally gasped, his face uncharacteristically flushed, “You’re killing me, little alchemist. I’m very tempted to take you back to Xing with me.” 

Ed was going to fucking _kill_ that stupid prince. 

“My lord, that may be a little _too_ greedy,” Lan Fan says up from where she’s holding Al up. Her face is expertly schooled, as someone who is no doubt used to Ling’s ridiculousness. Al, meanwhile, seems to be torn between sheer embarrassment for his brother and mirth at the prince’s antics. 

Ling holds Ed up so that he’s at eye level and considers him. 

Annoyed, Ed flicks his tail on the prince’s nose. He then sneezes. 

Ling looks absolutely smitten. 

Ed’s still going to kill him, just _after_ the prince stops trying to domesticate him like some kind of fucking housecat. 

\---

They say their goodbyes again after Ed has transformed back into a human, and after he has rightfully decked Ling for pulling that shit on him. Ling just laughs and clasps Ed’s arm in farewell, and Lan Fan decides to not murder Ed for laying a finger on her precious prince, which is all he can ask for, really. 

Later, when he walks back with Al, he gives Ed a knowing smile. 

“...What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?” Ed grouses. 

Al laughs breathily. “I just had a thought.” 

Ed looks at him. 

“I just think that the Colonel might get a little jealous if he finds out that Ling knows your soul animal before he does.” 

Ed’s heart stutters. 

“W-what the hell, Al! He’s not— I mean, he doesn’t—” 

“Although, Ling did resort to _underhanded_ methods to get it out of you. He’ll probably be less happy about that,” Al muses, humor coloring his eyes. 

His brother will be the death of him, Ed thinks. 

\---

“I am offended,” Mustang grouses. 

Ed snorts. 

The purple-yellowish light of an impending sunset makes the trees in Central City Park look absolutely radiant. It’s golden hour in the middle of Spring, coming up on the Promised Day’s four-year anniversary. The slight breeze feels amazing on Ed’s neck, his side-braid leaving it exposed. His hair had grown quite a bit in those years, as he couldn’t bring himself to cut it like Al had. 

Families with their children were out and about, teenagers holding hands and sitting under trees, elder couples sitting on benches and basking in the peace. 

It’s days like these that make Ed wonder just when it is he’ll outlive his wanderlust. Just when it is that he’ll find a place or a person to finally call _home_. 

“Al said you would be,” Ed replies, walking next to Mustang. 

The man raises an eyebrow. 

“Well of course. Ling knows your soul animal before I do. You, my faithful subordinate, my ever so loyal and temperate alchemist dog—” 

Ed laughs and elbows Mustang in the ribs, interrupting his sarcastic adulations. The corners of Mustang’s lips quirk up in a slight crooked smile, and Ed wonders if Mustang knows that he does that everytime he manages to crack a laugh out of Ed. He wonders if Mustang knows the things that stupid crooked grin does to him. 

“Not your subordinate anymore, bastard. Also _‘temperate’_? You have another Fullmetal Alchemist under your thumb you’re not telling me about?” Ed ribs, and true to fashion, Mustang does not rise to the bait. 

Ed waves his hand, changing the subject. “Anyways, how’s kissing Grumman’s ass going?” 

The black haired man sighs. “As eloquent as ever, Edward.” 

“I try. Is it Brigadier General still or is it Lieutenant General?”

“Lieutenant General. Although word is, I’m looking at a promotion soon.” 

As much as Ed fucking hates the military, he can’t help the warm rush of pride that courses through his chest.

“About fuckin’ time.” 

Mustang sees right through him. 

“The Ishvalan Restoration helped. Things went smoothly in the East, when I was overseeing the reconstruction of Ishval. Scar and Miles were a huge advantage too.” 

Ed nods. He’s heard all about the rebirth of Ishval, how Mustang lead the effort in the East, how the once fallen country was getting back up on its feet. The region was even turning into a major trading point between Xing and Amestris, which was frankly amazing in the sparse amount of time that had passed. 

“Congratulations, Lieutenant General bastard.” 

He chuckles, but there’s something pained to it. 

“It’s ironic, really. I was once the Hero of Ishval, and that’s what propelled me up through the ranks back under Bradley’s reign. Now, I’m raising through the ranks by helping the people I once ravaged.” 

Mustang stops walking. To any passerby, he looked placid, his face carefully trained not to betray a hint of emotion. Ed knows better because even though he’s not good with people like Al, he still _knows_ people. He sees the slight clench of Mustang’s fist, notices the subtle taut tension running through Mustang’s spine like it’s his own. 

Ed remembers the conversation he had with Hawkeye all those years ago. How she vowed never to forget those who she killed. How during the war, she and Mustang refused to use their soul animals. How they wanted to keep at least one part of their soul clean from their sins. 

“You think too much,” Ed mutters. He steps in front of Mustang, forcing the other to look at him. 

Ed’s proud to say that although he’s not (yet) taller than the older man, he no longer has to crane his neck to meet Mustang’s eye. 

“You’re not a damn hero, Mustang. You’re a sinner, you and Hawkeye and Maes and everyone who participated in that fucking war. I’m a fucking sinner too, I committed one of alchemy’s taboo and put my brother through hell on Earth. _But_ ,” he stresses, golden eyes never once leaving Mustang’s deep obsidian depths, “the difference between us and _them_ is what matters. Between us and those homunculi fuckers, we tiny humans are the ones that try to make our wrongs into rights, and that’s what _matters_ , Mustang. You more so than anyone-fuckin’-else.” 

Ed takes a breath. 

“ _So_. Stop makin’ me stroke your fat ego, and get a grip.” 

Mustang stares at him. A blush creeps up Ed’s traitorous face, and Ed scowls back. 

And then, Mustang snorts. 

“‘Tiny humans’, huh?” He laughs into his hand like the fucking gentleman he is, and Ed’s sure his own face is scarlet. 

“Is that a _height_ joke? Who’re you callin’ so tiny that they’re face-to-face with your feet when they stand up, _huh_?” Ed fumes. There’s a trickle of relief flowing down his spine, though, as Mustang smiles at him this time. No hidden pain. 

“Thank you, Edward. Really.” 

Mustang’s still smiling, and Ed notices the way his eyes crinkle ever so slightly at the edges. It’s fuckin’ _unfair_. 

Ed scoffs, and turns around, walking forward. 

“Thanks for what, bastard? I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” 

He hears footsteps behind him, and slows until his pace matches Mustang’s leisurely one. A spring breeze rustles the trees overhead, and a leaf falls on Ed’s braid. Mustang plucks it off and lets it flutter to the ground. 

“I know. Sometimes, even I need to be reminded of that.” Mustang says quietly, warmly. Ed wonders when their yelling matches and Mustang’s snide goading clashing against Edward’s lethal temper had evolved into conversations like this. Conversations that flowed easier than the rivers by Granny Pinako’s house back in Resembool, conversations that reminded Ed that he was… 

He was at _home_. 

Ed’s heart stutters. 

He stares at Mustang. 

The man before him is dressed _well_ , a long deep navy coat over a sleek fitted black sweater, with shoes to match. It’s his version of casual, which Ed knows now, but it’s still _stunning_ nonetheless. 

Two years ago, Al had regained enough strength to realize his own goals. He had departed for Xing, while Ed made his way West to discover its secrets. After a year and a half of wandering and discovering and _living_ , Ed came back to Resembool for a brief stint. He saw Winry off, who had decided to go to Rush Valley and set up shop there with Paninya. Ed spent the majority of the last six months visiting those who had helped them on their journey to get Al’s body back and thanking them. 

And now, he was in Central City. He was here, in front of Mustang, and he was looking for a home. 

Mustang is the fire besides the hearth, sly smiles and warm sunset walks; he is a constant that has been in Ed’s life ever since Ed’s sins threw him into the spiral of a descent into Amestris’s dark past. He’s ambitious, strong, clever, and when he smiles at Ed, Ed thinks he just might stay. 

“Edward?” 

Mustang’s looking at him with eyebrows raised. The younger man snaps out of his thoughts. 

_Staying, huh? What a concept._

Ed feels his lips tugging into a grin. 

“Yeah, yeah, Earth to Ed, I get it. I’m here, dumbass.” 

“Roy.” 

“Hmm?” 

“You can call me Roy, you know. I _do_ have a first name.” 

They make their way over to a bench, and Ed plops his ass down unceremoniously, stretching his legs out. Mustang sits next to him, looking up at the slowly darkening sky. 

“ _Roy_.” Ed tries. 

It’s not bad. He likes the way it rolls off his lips, likes the way it makes his heart thrum just a little faster. Ed could get used to it. 

“Was that so bad?” Mustang says. There’s humor in his words. 

“I could get used to it. But it doesn’t have the same ring as ‘Colonel bastard’,” Ed laments. 

“I’m very grateful for that.” 

There’s a silence, before Mustang turns to look at Ed once more. 

“Edward.” 

“Roy.” 

“You changed the subject.” 

Ed _hmm_ s. 

“My memory’s not as good as it was when I was a spry alchemist not four years ago. Gettin’ older and taller, it comes with the territory, y’know. Remind me again what we were talkin’ about?” 

Mustang smirks. 

“Your soul animal. And how the Emperor of Xing seems to be more familiar with it than I am.” 

“And you’re not happy about that, right?” Ed knows he’s poking the tiger, so to speak.

“‘Happy’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe how I feel, no,” Mustang says. “After all, I’ve been waiting for a long time.” 

“Good things happen to those who wait, or something like that,” Ed muses, hedging Mustang. He wonders when the good Lieutenant General will crack. He’s kind of looking forward to it. 

Mustang, however, is as infuriatingly calm as ever. 

“That _is_ how the saying goes, Edward.” 

Ed throws him a bone. 

“Anyways, it’s not like I _willingly_ showed Ling my soul animal.” 

This gets Mustang’s attention. He raises an eyebrow, and lies his arm casually across the back of the bench. His fingers are centimeters away from Ed’s hair. 

Ed remembers just how Ling had _surprised_ him to drag his soul animal out. 

Welp. Maybe he shouldn’t tell Mustang about that. 

“Do _elaborate_ , Edward.” Mustang’s eyes are piercing him, like a predator’s fixed on a piece of prey.

“Yeah, well, it’s not a big deal, he was just being a prick like usual and kind of surprised it out of me, y’know.” Ed tried to brush it off, but Mustang didn’t make it this far up the military chain without being able to smell a bad coverup for a _good_ story. 

“Surprised you? You’re not that easily surprised. Easily excitable, yes, but surprised,” Mustang muses, “I am curious as to what surprised you so much.” 

Ed swallows. 

_Cat’s out of the bag now,_ Ed thinks sardonically. But, it just might be interesting to see the bastard’s reaction. 

So, Ed says in a rush of words, “the jerk may have grabbed my ass and kissed me so hard that my soul animal clawed its way out. And then he tried to take me back to Xing with him, but Al wouldn’t let him, and no one says no to Al. Not even emperors” 

Mustang stares at him. 

“So, yeah. That’s what happened.” Ed finishes. 

He thinks for a second that he may have single-handedly ruined any possible international diplomatic relations between Amestris and Xing before Mustang just sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. 

“I’m not even surprised,” Mustang says simply. 

Ed shrugs. 

“But if Ling had taken you back to Xing, blind or not, I’d like you to know I would have helped Alphonse drag your sorry corpse back.” 

Ed snorts at Mustang’s too-casual tone, pleasant surprise blossoming in his gut. Mustang never ceased to amaze. 

“I would’ve let you. Xing sounds great, but it’s not _home_.” 

“That’s besides the point,” Mustang says. 

“Yeah? So what’s your point, then?” 

“Edward, when you show me your soul animal, it will be because you _want_ to, not because of something so trite as _surprising_ it out of you. I’m looking forward to it,” Mustang says solemnly, seriously. 

Ed feels his face heat up immediately. 

_When_ you show me. _That arrogant, cocky bastard, that suave motherfucker, that unwarranted confidence, who does he think he_ is?! _He’s so— he’s so—_

Ed makes a noise somewhere between a strangled scream and a groan. 

_It’ll be because I want it, huh?_

_He’s so…_

_Fucking romantic._

He’s floored Ed with a mere few sentences. 

“You smug _b-bastard_ ,” Ed manages to snarl through his furious blush. 

Mustang sighs again, but his crooked smile is back. Ed’s heart melts. 

“Not even twenty-four hours, and ‘Roy’ has already devolved back into ‘bastard’. 

“God,” Ed looks to the sky and invokes the name of a being he doesn’t even believe in.

“I’m still just a Lieutenant General. Not ‘God’ yet, unfortunately.” 

“ _God_ ,” Ed says again, “You’re a sentimental fuck.” 

He _is_ a sentimental fucker. Ed can’t get enough of it. 

Mustang gives him a look not unlike a puppy’s, and Ed thinks that he’s one of the few people who gets to see Mustang like this. Who gets to talk to him like this, who gets to let him lower his guard and be himself. That’s something Ed will always cherish. 

“Not just anyone gets to see that part of me, bastard,” Ed says, “at least Ling’s an emperor.” 

He looks at Mustang. 

“So hurry up and become the Fuhrer already, and then just maybe I’ll tell you.” 

It should be illegal how Mustang’s face lights up like Al’s does whenever Winry makes apple pie. It’s unfair how his stupid, stupid smile makes Ed feel like he’s right at home, like he can settle down right here and stay, stay until this country sees the best leader it’ll ever know. 

And then Mustang holds his hand. Ed’s racing thoughts jerk to a stop. 

His eyes are twinkling like the now-night sky above them.

And then he brings his lips to Ed’s hand. Ed feels the soft skin brush against the top of his flesh hand, the one he had lost and then gotten back because of Al’s sacrifice four years ago. He feels fire lazily trickle into his heart through that very hand. 

Fucking flame alchemists. 

Mustang squeezes Ed’s hand once more. 

“I just might have to take you up on that offer, Edward.” 

Ed is so, so gone. 

\---

But before all that, Ed had sent Mustang a letter, saying he was coming by Central to say hi. 

The eldest Elric brother had just conquered the West, and was missing his younger brother terribly. With Al still in Xing and Winry moving to Rush Valley, Ed decided it was time to pay a visit to those who had started him off on this journey into hell and back. 

That decision, of course, leaves Mustang staring at the piece of paper in his hands like it’s his death warrant. 

_Bastard,_

_It’s been a while. I’m coming back to Central soon, so clear your fucking schedule._

_You better have gotten promoted while I was out. Or are you just a lazy bastard after all?_

_Anyways, give Hawkeye my regards._

_—Ed_

“He really does have the worst timing,” Lieutenant General Mustang sighs, placing the opened letter on his desk. 

Hawkeye nods, already in action from the moment Mustang had set the letter down. 

“Should I send a military escort to get him, sir?” 

Mustang grimaces. 

Between Fuhrer Grumman putting him under control of a slowly increasing jurisdiction and watching his back as Olivier Armstrong gained favor, a serial killer loose in Central City was absolutely the last thing that Mustang needed. Knowing that Ed was to arrive in the same city was even less ideal. 

The killer’s MO was still uncertain as of now, but the lead team in Investigations had put together the string of murders that had occurred over the course of the past months. It seems that the killer is not afraid of attacking in broad daylight, a fact that reminds Mustang unnervingly of Scar. In addition, the killer seems to be targeting individuals involved in the Promised Day. Fuhrer Grummann had been put under maximum security as a result. 

There hasn’t been an attack in the past three weeks nor has there been a public panic as the only ones who’ve been attacked thus far are military officials, but that doesn’t put Mustang at ease at all. Especially not with the Hero of Amestris, Edward Elric coming back. 

It especially doesn’t ease his nerves knowing that Investigations’ latest lead is that the killer is most likely an alchemist of some sort.

Hawkeye, ever the perceptive one, notices his displeasure. 

“I’m willing to pick up Ed myself. He should be arriving in around an hour, sir. I can head out now.” 

Mustang sighs. 

“I can go.” 

He knew how she would respond before he even notices the hardness in her eyes. 

“ _Sir_. You might as well put a target on your back.” 

“Hawkeye, you were also involved that day—” 

“Yes, but your renown has only grown. Sir,” she says, and Mustang knows she’s right. In civilian clothes, Hawkeye has always been adept at blending into city life. 

“Fine.” He says. “Thank you.” 

The blonde salutes, before leaving. 

He leans back in his chair, his face a carefully crafted stony mask. 

His mind, a hurricane. 

Ed is a rather vibrant presence, impossible to miss. Mustang knows he’s strong and he’s traveled when he was a mere teenager with his younger brother, and that he continued his travels independently, but he still can’t help the nausea-inducing unease roiling in his gut. After all, Ed doesn’t have his alchemy anymore. For all his fighting skills and bluster, for all his sheer hardiness, Ed was still human.

The grin on his pen tightened as he stared at the same sentence on the forms for the second consecutive minute. 

_Everything would be fine_ , he had to convince himself, resolute. Hawkeye would bring him back unscathed, and he would be able to resume delightful banter with his favorite spitfire. 

He rubs his eyes in a way that would definitely elicit a disapproving stare from Hawkeye, were she there, and tries his best to relax. He pulls another sheet from the top of his daunting tower of paperwork, and digs into the task. 

As most things have been in his tenure as a military man, Mustang doesn’t relax for long. 

Around a half an hour later, he gets a call. He doesn’t let it get to the second ring. 

“Mustang speaking.” The nausea in his gut makes itself known again. 

“ _Ah—_ ” The response is a little static-y, and he recognizes Fuery’s radio-telephone. “ _Lieutenant General Mustang >_” 

“Fuery. What is it?” 

“ _We have a lead on the Promised Day killer,_ ” Fuery says. There’s a slight scuffle and Mustang thinks he can hear voices in the background of wherever Fuery is. His heartbeat ticks up. “ _Breda! Careful,_ ” Fuery hisses out, voice laced with panic. 

“I need a clear report, _now_.” There’s no room for argument in his tone. 

“ _Yes, sir! We got a call from the civilian police that there’s been a disturbance near Main Street. The injured party is former soldier Charles—_ ” 

The static buzzes out the tail end of Fuery’s sentence, but Mustang is already standing up. Charlie had remained one of Mustang’s loyal subordinates throughout the Ishvalan War and beyond, a vital asset during the Promised Day coup d'etat. He had followed Mustang into that hell without hesitation, and Mustang isn’t the type to easily forget those who have helped him. 

Charlie had helped with the efforts in rebuilding Ishval afterwards, before retiring to civilian life in Central. He had found a wonderful wife, happily married, and had two children, the last Mustang had heard. He had found happiness after the bloodbath that Amestris’s freedom from the homunculi had cost them. 

And now he was possibly bleeding out in Breda’s arms. 

“—Fuery, can you hear me? I need you to tell me where you are.” 

There’s more static, before Mustang gets a response. 

“ _Rita’s Flower Shop on Main Street. It happened near there. The killer transmuted vicious concrete barbs and had launched them at the victim. The suspect then took off. Hawkeye had also been on the scene, and she told us to notify you, before running after the suspect. The suspect fled north._ ” 

Fuery ended his report. 

“ … Get Charlie to safety. Call in for backup for Hawkeye. I’m on my way.” 

Mustang slammed the phone down on its receiver, pulling on his gloves and running out. 

The flower shop was in Main Street Plaza. Main Street Plaza was just a few blocks away from Central City Train Station. Hawkeye must have intercepted the suspect on her way to pick up Ed. Now that Hawkeye was after the killer, that left Ed open. 

Ed would be arriving in less than fifteen minutes to Central. The killer had fled north of Main Street. 

They were on a deadly collision course, one that Mustang was determined to stop. 

He feels a familiar tug in his muscles, at his bones, and he snaps.

\---

Ed stretches out his limbs, feeling the satisfying _pop_ of his shoulder joint as he does so. A small smile played on his lips as he looked out the train window. The familiar green scenery that preceded Central City Train Station was a relaxing sight. After Al had gained enough strength to travel on his own, Ed hadn’t stayed still for long. He had embraced his wanderlust with two broad flesh arms, and as a result, had seen many sights. 

He had met a lot of people. But even Edward Elric could admit that there’s nothing that beats home with old friends waiting for you. 

He had haphazardly mailed Mustang a note barely ahead of time of his arrival. Ed taps his foot as the train comes to a stop. After all, he was admittedly excited to see how the bastard was faring after all these years. Exhilarated to think how the bastard would react when he realizes that Ed doesn’t have to crane his neck to make eye contact with him anymore. 

He stands, grabbing his well-worn suitcase. 

Ed doesn’t want to be late for his homecoming, after all. 

He steps out into the train station platform, stretching out properly and cracking his neck, stiff from having taken a cat nap on the ride there. It’s a lazy day at the station, as he’s one of the mere handful of people getting off on the platform. He’s finally back in Central, back in the very place where he had punched God right in the face and dragged his brother’s body back from the depths of Truth’s domain, back where he had taken and given up the title of Fullmetal Alchemist. The place where he knew that Mustang would one day take office, if the bastard ever wanted to see his 520 cenz ever again. 

Everything started and ended in Central, didn’t it? 

Which is precisely why Ed thinks he really shouldn’t be surprised when he hears the familiar crackling noise that comes with alchemy. He dives to the side as he catches a glimpse of the blue sparks that he had become so accustomed with throughout his youth. 

_Shit._ The pillar had been split in half with daunting spikes formed from the concrete slabs, sharp enough to cut through flesh. He grimaced. Ed had already been impaled once in his life, and he had no desire to repeat that experience. 

He looks up, wildly searching for the culprit. He’s used to being the target of premeditated attacks, something that would give Alphonse an aneurism if he voiced it aloud, but this was a little ridiculous. 

Another spark. He barely manages to dodge as smaller spikes launch at his face, embedding in the metal of the train behind him. 

_...That was a close shave. It looks like he’s using distance alchemy, something normally reserved for Alkahestrists. Interesting,”_ he muses, as he tries to figure out where the alchemist fucker had stationed himself. 

_And how do I drag him out of hiding?_

Ed is nothing if not known for his barbed tongue. 

“Hey, rat-bastard!” He calls out, voice amplified by the acoustics of the train station, “Why don’t you show yourself?” 

Another spike. He jumps out of the way. 

“Think of me as a declawed cat,” Ed says, “I can’t even use alchemy anymore! If a fight’s what you’re looking for, then come here and get it.” 

He dodges the continual onslaught of alchemic projectiles as he says this. They’re coming from one direction, and he realizes that his assailant might be a platform over. Ed grins. 

“Or I can come to you!” 

Ed can almost here Al’s voice yelling _Brother!_ as he leaps across the gulley of the railway tracks, making it over to the next platform with ease. He nearly loses his footing as he lands, the slight creak of his automail leg reminding him that he should definitely pay Winry a visit soon. 

After he dealt with this fucker. 

“Now, why don’t you show yourself? I’m right here, so you don’t have to waste my fucking time with your shitty distance alchemy.” 

“Edward!” he hears _Hawkeye’s_ voice of all things, momentarily catching his attention as he sees the familiar woman running up the stairs onto the platform. 

That moment of hesitation is all it takes for a spike to clip him across the ankle. 

“ _Fuck_ —” he hisses, shifting his weight onto his metal leg and looking towards the direction that the sparks came in. He sees him now. There’s a man, dark haired and beady-eyed, bulky and well-built, with alchemic tattoos on his forearms and what looked to be small knives sheathed on his belt. He had come out from behind the conductor’s booth, now that it was just him and Hawkeye. 

Hawkeye whips out her gun and unloads a clip in the direction of their assailant, but he simply smirks and brings up a concrete wall. 

“Hey Lieutenant— er, is it still Lieutenant?” Ed says jovially, despite the sharp pain in his bleeding leg. After all, he was also looking forward to seeing Hawkeye again, under what he thought would be better circumstances. 

“Riza is fine,” Hawkeye says, eyes trained on where the man had disappeared into. “How’s your leg doing?” 

“Been better,” Ed hedges. He knows he’s not the most bulky person and thus never relies on sheer strength in combat, preferring to rely on speed and being lightweight enough to move and attack _quickly_. The fucker had however cut down his speed a considerable amount, and had a way to counter Hawkeye’s bullets. As much as he loved to believe that Hawkeye had an infinite arsenal on her person at all times, he knew that she would soon run out of bullets too. And then they all they had to rely on was getting close enough to their attacker to negate his distance alchemy. 

Although, Ed was willing to bet he was an adept close-combat alchemy user as well. 

It wasn’t the worst situation Ed’s found himself in, not by far, but it wasn’t ideal either. 

“What’s the sitch?” Ed asked. 

“Serial killer. Targeting those involved in the Promised Day. MO unknown.” Hawkeye’s responses were concise. 

Of course. Ed was the Hero of Amestris (a _stupid_ title which he hated) and Hawkeye was Mustang’s right hand man. They were basically wearing targets on their faces. 

Now all that was left to do was hopefully distract him until the cavalry arrived. 

“So,” Ed said loudly, moving as smoothly as he could with a steadily bleeding ankle. “You want to kill the Hero of Amestris? Let me guess, are you a Drachman spy?” he mused, to no answer. 

That’s not it then. 

“Are you a civilian who just _hates_ the military?” 

The man tries to come out again but Hawkeye unloads another clip. He activates another array and sends a barrage of spikes headed towards Hawkeye, and she jumps out of the way. 

“ _No_ ,” the man seethes, his voice low and raspy from disuses. 

“He _speaks_ ,” Ed says in mock-awe. That earns him a dirty glare. 

It was so obvious. He’s well-built, has a good amount of scars, and has a glint of sharp slight insanity to his eyes that Ed has seen before in Kimblee. What other establishment breeds monsters like that? 

“Ex-military. Bradley’s regime. You liked him,” Ed says. “Maybe even wanted immortality?” 

The man’s eyebrows furrow, violent anger flashing over his face. _Bingo_. 

What is it with moronic psychopathic alchemists craving immortality in this country? Or even just following ruthless dictators? Ed really didn’t get it, not even after all these years. 

He doesn’t have time to think about as the man activates his alchemic array once more. The ground beneath his feet rumbles violently and he loses his balance as he barely dodges another spike. This one’s huge and _lethal_. 

Maybe Ed struck the nerve he was looking for a little too hard. 

“ _You_ ,” the man growled, “You selfish bastards took away my chance at another life.” The man coughs violently, before setting his gaze on Ed. 

Ed’s mind is buzzing as he crashes to the ground from his last haphazard dodge. His brain makes the connections rapidly— _physical illness, pale skin, reliance on alchemy, crazed vengeance, immortality as a cure to death_ — it was all adding up. 

Spittle flew from his mouth as he seethed, rabid. “Now you’ll die.” 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck_ , Ed tried to get up again to avoid the next attack, but the steady blood loss was starting to get to him and both of his legs were not in the best condition. He’s ready to use his arms to flip out of the way and hopefully shield Hawkeye when— 

A chilling _snarl_ reverberates through the air. All the hairs on Ed’s exposed arms stand up as a whirl of black streaks past him. He backs up and bumps into Hawkeye, who’s… _smiling_? 

Ed takes a bigger look at the mass of anger and sheer power that had just leapt and planted itself between him and his would-be killer. 

It was _massive_. If Ed had been standing, he knew that the creature would have come to a height just below his shoulder. It had vicious claws attached to paws that could span his face, ripping muscles under a dark pelt, and sharp teeth in a jaw that could clamp down and kill anyone _instantly_. 

A black panther. 

_“The Colonel is a black panther. Rather fitting, I think.”_

“Holy fuck,” Ed breathes, remembering Hawkeye’s words from all those years ago. _Knowing_ was one thing, but _seeing_ Mustang— because yes, this beautiful, terrifying creature was _Mustang_ — like this was a whole different level. 

He was a cat, just like Ed. Ed felt his chest tighten a little, as the panther stalked towards the alchemist who was caught off guard. 

The man made to clap his hands to his arrays, but Mustang leapt forward before he could even move another millimeter. He landed on the killer’s chest, claws out, digging into the man’s torn shirt. The killer had cracked his head on the concrete platform as he landed backwards, knocking him out. 

The fight was over in an instant. 

Ed swallowed. 

He snaps out of his thoughts as Hawkeye, having gotten to her feet, extends an arm to Ed. He takes it, standing unsteadily on his injured ones. He’s speechless for once. Hawkeye looks at him knowingly, and Ed can’t even bring himself to flush in chagrin. 

“Sir,” Hawkeye salutes the panther, which is frankly _hilarious_ , but Ed has still maintained his respect for the woman to this day so he doesn’t laugh. She walks over to the attacker, and brings him to his feet, managing a hold on the unconscious man. “I’ll bring this man over to the authorities. We’ll interrogate him.”

The panther— _Mustang_ , looks at her with deep, dark bluish obsidian feline eyes. 

“Edward has injuries on his leg. I trust him in your care,” Hawkeye says. 

“Ah— Lieuten— er, Riza,” it feels _weird_ saying her name, but Ed still doesn’t know her current title, “I can help you carry him.” 

Hawkeye simply shakes her head. “Fuery should have called for reinforcements by now. They will be sufficient.” She smiles at Ed. “I believe you’ve been missed, Ed.” 

With that, she leaves. 

He’s left with panther-Mustang. It’s fitting, him as a calm, huge, black cat that could snap at any moment. 

Ed limps over to a bench in the middle of the platform, sighing, closing his eyes and finally letting his limbs relax. 

“Nice to see you again, bastard.” 

When he opens his eyes, he’s proud of himself for not flinching when the huge feline’s head is inches away from his. 

Mustang looks at Ed, unblinkingly. 

Ed slowly lifts his hand, having the sudden urge to _touch_. When Mustang doesn’t pull away, he gently cups the back of the panther’s massive skull, stroking his head with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. 

Mustang closed his eyes and pushed his head forward, connecting with Ed’s stomach. 

That brings a grin to Ed’s face. 

“You’re a needy bastard,” he grouses, both of his hands now dedicated to massaging panther-Mustang. Ed feels a low vibration as he continues his ministrations, and can’t help the flush that comes to his face as he realizes it’s a purr. 

“But, I guess, you’re kind of cool.” 

Mustang blinks at him. 

“Ah, don’t look at me like that,” Ed says, squishing the panther’s face with his palms. Mustang growls in response, and Ed thinks he can feel his soul animal responding to the call. 

Ed laughs. He slides to his knees on the ground so that Mustang stands slightly taller than him, and wraps his arms around Mustang’s neck, putting his forehead to the panther’s head. The big cat makes a questioning noise, pushing back against Ed so that his comforting weight sandwiched Ed between the bench and thick black fur. 

“I think it’s time for us to head back,” Ed says. And with a grin, “I’ll be in your care, bastard.” 

The panther snorts, before helping Ed to his feet, nudging him up again with his snout, before backing away. 

As Ed stands, swaying, he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

He comes face to face with a very real, very human Roy Mustang. Ed leans into the touch. 

“Welcome back, Edward.” 

Ed smiles. 

_It’s good to be back._

\---

Later, Ed gets a letter from Al. It has the official seal of the Chang clan on it, which Ed has come to recognize over the years: golden wax emblazoned with a fierce looking dragon, it’s claws outstretched. 

He opens the letter pulling out a photograph. 

Ed grins. 

Al stares back at him with huge golden eyes, a pelt that shines beautifully in the desert sun, and frankly _massive_ paws. His mane hasn’t yet grown, he looks rather young even in this form, and Ed can’t wait until he comes home to visit, to run his hands through his brother’s fur. May Chang stands next to him, leaning on his back haunches heavily; she’s a young woman now rather than the child she was when they first met, and she’s mid-laugh. Xiao Mei uncannily has the same expression. 

In black ink, scrawled at the bottom of the photo in neat handwriting is Al’s brief message: 

_I’m a LION, brother!_

Ed is so goddamn _proud_. 

\---

Roy is nearing his forties when Fuhrer Grumman finally retires. 

He gets his first silver hair during the military ceremony. Hawkeye is the one who finds it, true to nature, and Roy can’t find it in himself to feel anything negative about it. His hair is slicked back, and he has four stars on his shoulders now, and a platoon of people who support him through hell and back. 

He sees Edward in the crowd, wearing a black button up that he’s clearly not happy about, glaring at Roy. Roy smiles, and the cameras flash. 

“It’s a nice photo,” Hawkeye muses later, when they’re in his new office. It’s surreal, standing in the same room as Grumman did, as _Bradley_ did, the very position that he’s sought after since he enlisted as a young adult. 

Hawkeye holds up the newspapers which are already hot off the presses, featuring a photo of grinning at the people as he gets his fourth star. 

“Thanks, Hawkeye.” Then, because he’s an asshole, “One day, that will be you.” 

Hawkeye raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure Olivier Armstrong would have something to say about that.” 

Mustang chuckles. He has plans for the future, he always does, and Hawkeye would always be a part of them. 

“Besides, I’ve no interest in that title,” Hawkeye says. “Congratulations sir.” 

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Did I mention you’re getting a promotion?” 

That gets a smile out of her. Mustang feels light for the first time in a while. 

A knock at the door gets both of their attention. The door opens without warning, but Mustang is at ease once he sees who it is. 

“Sir, you cannot enter without permission—” 

The poor guard stationed at his door is trying to get Edward to stay still without laying his hand on the Hero of Amestris, and was not having much luck. 

“Jeez, I’m not going to _assassinate_ the Fuhrer!” Mustang notices how the guard flinches almost violently at the word _assassinate_. He hides a grin. 

“Sir—” the paling man chokes out, but Ed waves him away. 

“Enjoy yourself, sir,” Hawkeye says breezily, nodding her greeting in Edward’s direction before leaving with the stuttering guard. 

The door closes behind her. 

Ed’s golden eyes are set on his, burning _intent_ laser focused on Mustang. 

“Edward. Always a pleasure,” Mustang says, his voice silky smooth, the way he knows riles the blonde up. It’s a familiar game of cat and mouse that he always indulges in. 

“So,” Ed stalks up to Mustang, before slamming a palm on his desk, “you’re _Fuhrer bastard_ now.”

Mustang allows himself a grin. 

“It would seem so.” 

Edward returns the grin, sharklike. His black button-up is undone at the top, revealing a healthy amount of tanned skin right down to the clavicle, and his eyes catch the light in a way that makes them _glow_. It seems Mustang has a feral creature in his office, with no one to protect him from it. 

Ed rummages in his back pocket for something, before grasping it in his fist. He throws it at Mustang, who catches easily with a single hand. 

The Fuhrer unclenches his fist. 

He can’t help but laugh at the coins that stare back at him. 

“520 cenz, Edward? Really?” 

There’s a faint smattering of pink on the elder Elric brother’s face, which Mustang found endearing back when he was still a Colonel. It seems that even becoming Fuhrer doesn’t change everything. 

“I keep my promises, bastard,” Ed growls, before using his hands to lift himself onto Mustang’s desk. He stands up, towering above the flame alchemist, and just as Mustang is going to ask him politely what’s going through that brilliant head of his, he—

He _transforms_. 

Mustangs eyes go wide at the creature that’s now on his desk. 

Edward’s soul animal is a _petite_ thing, royal golden eyes shining up at him, his pelt a sandy color with dark spots running over his back. He’s only slightly bigger than a kitten, even standing on all fours like this. His ears are impossibly big, sugar white whiskers twitching with every breath Mustang takes. 

He’s glaring daggers at Mustang. 

And then it hits him. Of course Edward would transform on an elevated platform so he could be closer to Mustang, given his soul animal’s size. 

“You’re…” 

Mustang wonders how even in his forties, Edward makes him feel like he’s a fumbling new recruit again.

“Edward, you…” 

He’s usually so goddamn perfect with words, but now they’ve all left him in the face of this, this… 

_Small? Not small. Beautiful? Yes, he’s beautiful, but…_

“You’re _perfect_.” He was reverent, in awe. He was a man in the highest position of power in this nation, he had achieved the goal he had shed blood, sweat, and tears to grasp, and yet—

And _yet_. 

He was at the mercy of one Edward Elric. 

Ed pads forward, his fur no longer bristling in challenge. He cranes his head up, neck stretching towards the Fuhrer of Amestris. 

Mustang’s heart catches in his throat. 

He ungloves his hands, letting the flame arrays fall onto the desk. He holds a hand out, trembling ever so slightly. Feather-soft fur meets it. Ed’s ears flatten against his skull as he butts his head against Mustang’s reverent palm, allowing the flame alchemist to stroke through his fur. Mustang is gentle, as gentle as he’s ever been, hands barely skirting the blonde’s body, but Ed has other ideas. Ed arches his spine into Mustang’s touch, before letting out a _mewl_ , demanding for more. 

God above. 

Ed’s small body is vibrating, and with a jolt, Mustang realizes he’s _purring_. 

He noses Mustang’s hand once more. 

Mustang is nothing if not obliging when it comes to Edward. 

Carefully, tenderly, he uses both his hands, thumbs curling around Ed’s underbelly while the rest of his fingers wrap around Ed. He carries his former subordinate, holding him at eye-level like he once did with Black Hayate when Fuery first introduced them to the pup. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Mustang says, barely audible. 

Ed’s ears flick. A pink tongue _bleps_ the fuhrer on the nose. 

He meows. _Hello, bastard_ , Mustang can already hear it now. 

Mustang is so, so gone. 

\---

Their relationship is kind of an open secret. 

Havoc teases them about it, whenever they come around the bar, but he doesn’t have room to talk— after all, he’s almost always found with an arm around Rebecca Catalina and a telling lack of a cigarette between his teeth, so he has no room to make fun of anyone for being sappy. 

Hawkeye simply raises a knowing eyebrow whenever Roy leaves his post at the Fuhrer’s office even a minute early. Fuery, sweet innocent Kain Fuery, had commented as Roy was one day taking his leave, “oh, so Ed’s in town again?”

The worst was probably the phone call he got from Madame Christmas. She knew about his budding relationship with his former subordinate (because nothing gets past Madame Christmas and her ladies), and after getting a scathing lecture on how she hoped that he really considered how this would affect his career, Roy could practically hear her smirk through the phone. 

“So, you finally got hitched, huh, Roy-boy?” she had said. Roy had responded that _no_ , he and Ed were not married in any shape or form, but— 

But he was _happy_. For the first time in years, for the first time in a decade, he felt like he could sleep at night without feeling blood on his hands. There were only a few people who he didn’t have to wear his cocky womanizer facade around, a few people who could see through him and embrace him nonetheless, and Ed had wheedled his way onto that list alongside the likes of Riza Hawkeye and Maes Hughes. 

“Good. He deserves you, then.” Madame had said, and that was that. 

So even though it might one day be a PR disaster (but really, who could fault him for wanting to be with the Hero of Amestris?), Roy finally had Ed in his grasp and he didn’t intend on letting go any time soon. 

On their fifth date (fifth _official_ date, as Hawkeye has pointed out, they’ve practically been dating since before they became “official”), they’re in Roy’s house. Having been raised by Madame Christmas, Roy knew a thing or two about how to romance a date. He knew how to wine and dine, how to satiate his partner before the end of the night. 

Mustang had planned a nice night in, coupled with a home-made pasta dinner, and then curling up on the couch, leading them to wherever the night took them. He expected this to either end up in warm cuddles with Roy’s arm around Ed’s shoulders, playing with his hair as Ed stretched out all over him, trying to vie for his body heat, or mind-blowing sex. Either option sounded great. 

Edward, however, turned all of that on its head. Which, honestly, Roy should have learned to expect by now. 

He and Ed had finished their penne alla vodka over a conversation of how Roy’s day went overseeing joint Central and Eastern command training, how it was decidedly not as much a disaster as he foresaw it being (“of course not, bastard— they put you, the only competent one in charge”, Ed had huffed, before rightfully adding “other than Riza”), and how Roy might be expecting a promotion soon. Soon after Roy had swallowed his last bite, he noticed the elder Elric staring at him with piercing eyes, as one might look at prey. 

Roy blinked. Edward grinned, all teeth. 

Then suddenly Edward was next to him and he was being hauled by the collar of his pristinely steamed button-up. 

“Edward—” 

“ _Move_ ,” Ed emphasized, dragging Roy over to the living room, to his couch. He pushed him down with a gentle shove, Roy’s ass hitting the couch with an unceremonious _plop_. Roy felt his brain short-circuiting as Ed shucked off his jacket and shirt, bare-chested with gleaming eyes, ready to devour him. 

“ _Edward_ ,” Roy breathed, as Ed slowly, languidly took seat on his lap, either knee caging in his legs in a sinfully innocent pose. He looped his arms around Roy’s neck leisurely, stretching out and arching his back as he got comfortable. 

“You’re annoyingly hot, did you know that?” Ed said casually, leaving one hand at the base of Roy’s neck and using his other to guide Roy’s onto his bare hips. His fingers wrap around the former alchemist, squeezing slightly into the warm flesh. Ed shivers openly in Roy’s grasp. 

“Is that a pun?” Roy says, just to be a little shit, and Ed breathes a laugh. 

“Fucking flame alchemist,” he says, but his pupils are blown and Roy thinks he could make another joke about that, or he could get lost in those golden depths. He holds his tongue. 

Roy has clever, clever fingers, and his broad hands travel up Ed’s waist, before they rest right under his rib cage. He can feel Ed’s heartbeat this way, can feel the warmth radiating from the human on his lap as if it were his own. 

Ed leans in and kisses him on the lips. It’s chaste, sweet and quick, and then he’s peppering kisses on Roy’s cheek, jaws, dragging them down his neck until—

The flame alchemist gasps as Ed nips at a tendon on his throat. He feels Ed grin into the sensitive skin at the base of his throat, as he gives the spot kitten licks before sucking another love bite. Deft fingers are undoing the buttons on his shirt, giving leeway for Ed to leave bruising kisses even further down Roy’s pale, sculpted chest. 

Ed rolls his hips forward, the friction it creates sending waves of heat into Roy’s core. He snaps. 

He holds Ed’s hips with a bruisingly tight grip, and Ed lets out a little moan at the pressure. Roy’s right hand snakes it’s way up Ed’s chest, making sure to give a harsh pinch to a nipple, before curling at the base of his neck. He grasps him roughly but not painfully, holding him at the base, a few strands of golden hair in his grip. 

Ed’s throat is bared to him this way, but there’s not a trace of submission in Ed’s eyes. 

“Roy,” Ed rasps, and Roy sucks a bruise onto his clavicle. “ _Roy_ ,” Ed stresses, eyes squeezing shut as the older man gently bites the lobe of his sensitive ear. 

“ _Ed_ ,” he manages, voice low with lust. 

“I want you,” he gasps against Roy’s unforgiving hold. He turns his head around to lean into the hand, nuzzling into it, biting down slightly on Roy’s thumb before giving it a kitten lick. “I want—”

Roy complies. 

He guides Ed to his lips once more, the younger man now panting and still squirming on his lap. His crotch is responding wonderfully to the entire situation. 

Ed opens his eyes. His eyes widen at the sight before him. A disheveled, smiling Roy Mustang, shirt nearly torn off and a line of red marks down his chest. Ed lets out a noise that sounds like a _whine_ , before crashing his lips into Roy’s. 

It’s sloppy, filthy, and Roy thinks Ed is trying to _devour_ him whole as Ed’s clever tongue slips into his mouth. As they pull apart, there’s a string of saliva connecting their lips, which should be _gross_ , but Ed barely gives them time to think about it as he dives in for more. Roy gives as good as he’s got, and licks Ed’s lips, nipping and pulling at them until they’re red and raw. He removes the band from Ed’s ponytail, massaging his grip into Ed’s scalp, allowing the golden locks to tangle through his fingers. Tears pool at the corners of Ed’s eyes, and his body is near flush with Roy’s bare chest. 

Roy takes in the sight before him. 

Wet eyes, lips parted and swollen, chest heaving and flushed from exertion, bruised hips, and blown golden pupils, hair delightfully roughened up— Ed is the epitome of _sin_. He’s a feral tom cat for Roy’s taking. He’s— 

“Absolutely _gorgeous_ ,” Roy breathes. 

Immediately, predictably, Ed flushes even further. 

“Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no heat. 

Roy lifts a hand to cup Ed’s cheek. Ed closes his eyes and tilts his head, resting it in the offered palm readily. 

“What did I do to deserve you, Edward?” He muses, smiles, and Ed opens an eye to look at him. 

“You’re still a sappy fuck,” Ed seethes, his face a deep shade of crimson. He shifts his weight forward, suddenly, and pushes Roy so that he’s leaning back on the couch with Ed sprawled out on his chest. He damn near burrows into Roy, settling once his chin is on Roy’s chest. 

Roy begins massaging Ed’s back, occasionally running his hands through Ed’s hair. Ed lets out a groan, stretching out against the older man, before settling again. 

“You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself, bastard,” Ed finally says, “but you already knew that.” 

“I have it on good record that I’m _annoyingly hot_ ,” Roy responds, fond humor in his voice. 

“Mmm,” Ed says, giving him a look full of interest. He leans up on his elbows, tilting his head to press a lazy kiss to Roy’s cheek. Roy thinks he would be content to just lie like this with Ed for an eternity, the warmth of their bare skin contact keeping them cozy through the night— 

Ed rolls his hips forward again, causing Roy to jolt. 

“Ed,” Roy groans, feeling his lower regions stir in interest once more. 

“What?” Ed said, feigned innocence. His arms snake around Roy’s neck again. “I told you that I _want_ you.” 

Ed rubs himself against Roy again, before Roy’s hands move to grab Ed’s ass. Ed grins, feral, and Roy realizes Ed’s got him right where he wants. 

Roy’s never one to refuse Edward. 

He flips Ed over, caging the younger man in with broad arms. 

“Well,” he says, leaning in slowly, his eyes never leaving Ed’s, “who am I to refuse?” 

Ed laughs breathily, before arching up into Roy’s heat. 

\---

“Fuhrer Mustang.” 

Mustang swallows. It’s a tone that Madame Christmas takes up when she’s telling off a customer for getting too handsy with one of her girls, a no-nonsense tone with the underlying connotation of _I have twenty odd ways to make you disappear with varying levels of pain if you don’t proceed correctly in the next five seconds_. 

It was somehow even more intimidating coming from Alphonse Elric. 

“Alphonse. It’s good to see you.” 

He holds out his hand, which Al takes with a firm grip. Gone is the frail, emaciated teenager that came out of Truth’s grasp all those years ago. Alphonse Elric is all tanned muscles and placid conversations, eyes bigger than Ed’s but somehow _deadlier_. All that time spent in Xing has brought a healthy deep sun-kissed tone to his face, and if Mustang looks closely enough, he can see the hint of freckles that the country to the East has gifted him with. 

“Likewise, Fuhrer sir.” He takes his hand away, his polite smile never leaving his face. Mustang feels tension rise through his spine. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your Fuhrership ceremony.” 

Mustang waves away the sentiment. “There’s no need to apologize. I know you were busy in Xing. I hear that Edward is to become an uncle soon— you have my congratulations.” 

Al nods, his face softening just a tinge. Mustang counts it as a victory, having pulled that little knowledge-nugget from one of his conversations with Ed gushing over how Al and May were going to make the _cutest_ babies and how he was going to be the best uncle. 

“Speaking of Edward,” Al says, steel in his voice, “I hear brother and you have been getting along really well.” 

_Ah. There it is_. 

“His company is rather invaluable to me,” Mustang says diplomatically. 

Al looks at him calculatingly. Mustang wonders if he’ll ever get used to how both Elrics’ golden eyes seem to pierce right through him. 

“He’s shown you his soul animal. Willingly.” 

_He’s bared his heart and soul to you_. 

Mustang nods. 

“He’s had his eyes on you ever since you lended him that pocket change. Maybe even before,” Al muses. 

520 cenz burn in Mustang’s pocket. Later, he’ll take the time to marvel at how far back Ed’s affection for him spanned, he’ll treasure it. But now, he has to face the beast— the _lion_ in front of him. 

“I’m a lucky man,” is what Mustang finally manages to say. 

Al’s eyes narrow. He goes in for the kill. 

“I did a little research after my soul animal manifested. Did you know that brother isn’t just _any_ type of cat?” 

Mustang knew that the markings on Ed’s fur were rather distinct but he hadn’t known any details beyond Ed being feline. 

“He’s a Rusty-Spotted Cat, one of the smallest wildcats in the world. He’s not your ordinary domesticated breed,” Al says, a sharp glint to his golden orbs, “he’s impossibly agile and _vicious_. He may be able to fit in the palm of your hands, but I would advise you not to mistake that for _docility_. After all, wild cats are unpredictable. We’re very capable of defending ourselves, and we take protecting our family very seriously.” 

Mustang blinks. 

Is he getting _shovel talked_ by Alphonse Elric? 

Havoc would have a field day if he ever found out about this. No, even Hawkeye would tease him endlessly, in that deadpan voice of hers. Mustang wonders what his life has come to. 

“Did you know he once took down Greed’s henchmen in that form? They were all chimeras, by the way.” 

He sighs. He really couldn’t imagine a world without the Elric brothers. 

“You’ve made yourself more than clear, Alphonse. Congratulations on getting your soul animal, by the way.” 

Al beams. It’s impossibly angelic, and Mustang can see why Ed loves to dote on his younger brother. 

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Al says. 

And then more seriously, “Brother’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him in the past ten years. I’m really grateful for all you’ve done for us, Fuhrer. I think you and Ed will _both_ make wonderful uncles.” 

Al bows, no doubt something he picked up from all his years in Xing, and leaves Mustang to deal with all of _that_. 

\---

He later mentions to Riza that Al has deemed him worthy enough to be an uncle to his unborn child. Riza doesn’t look surprised. 

“Alphonse has always been a good judge of character, sir.” 

Mustang wonders if the sting in his eyes is something that will go away with old age.

Riza smiles. 

\---

“Did you really take down a bunch of chimeras as a _cat_?” 

They’re in Mustang’s house, Ed leaning on his chest, a wonderfully warm weight for this cold winter night. The fireplace is ablaze and Mustang wraps an arm around the blonde, who curls up tighter into his side. 

“Huh?” He looks up from the alchemic text he’s reading. Even without the ability to use alchemy, Ed has quickly become one of the most notoriously prolific researchers in the field, to the surprise of absolutely nobody. 

“Oh yeah. I did. They never could have seen it comin’.” 

Mustang looks at Ed, whose head is snugly in his lap now, book forgotten on his chest. 

“Huh.”

Ed grins up at Mustang.

“I’m the best boyfriend. You should be terrified of me.” 

Mustang returns his grin, cupping Ed’s face before leaning down. Ed closes his eyes like a cat basking in the sun, and Mustang presses his lips to Ed’s, a lazy kiss. 

“Truly, I’m trembling,” he says, and Ed laughs before stretching his head up for more. 

As per usual, Mustang obliges. 

\---

Ed goes back to Resembool one winter day to get his leg serviced by Winry. Al had also come to visit with May Chang, his daughter around three years old and raring to visit Granny Pinako. Ed asks Roy to come along. As Fuhrer, he can’t simply go alone with no protection, so of course, he elects to bring along Riza. 

It’s all rather surreal. 

May Chang tells him stories about how Ling Yao is faring as emperor, how Xing has never been doing better under her “greedy brother”’s rule, she was loath to admit despite the pride that clearly shone through her eyes. Her belly was round and her cheeks flushed, and she smiled, saying it was time for her little one to discover the joys of siblinghood. Al was really happy about that, she giggled. 

Winry and Riza talk about girl things, Winry’s eyes shining at Riza’s short haircut. She considers getting a similar cut, mentioning a girlfriend in Rush Valley that would probably love the look. Riza agrees. 

Ed’s playing with his young niece, while Al tries to help Granny Pinako with the stew. It seems that stew is an Elric favorite; Roy will have to remember that for later. 

And then Ed plops Al’s daughter on Roy’s lap. He grins at him, saying that he better live up to his title of ‘uncle’. The little girl with black hair and golden eyes stares up at him, thumb in her mouth, wide eyed, and Roy—

—is _amazing_ with children. He’s had plenty of practice with Elicia, and even more experience with Elrics. He lifts her up, sees her eyes shine in the way that Ed’s do, hears her chime-like laugh, and he knows he’s won. She won’t let go of him by the end of the night, and Uncle Roy is a family favorite. Al clasps his shoulder, smiling warmly at him, before settling down on the couch next to him and Ed. Ed leans his head on Roy’s shoulder, and Roy settles his free arm around the blonde. 

It’s the picture of domesticity. A life Roy never thought he’d have the chance of stepping into. And then Granny Pinako announces that she had called over a photographer for the rare occasion of them all being together; after all, Elrics were not known for staying still. 

As the camera flashes, Mustang holds Ed even tighter, feeling his eyes sting. 

He really is a sentimental bastard, as Ed is so fond of reminding him. 

The next morning is a rare occasion; he wakes up at the Rockbell residence, only to find the previously occupied spot next to him bare. Roy rubs his eyes, before walking out of the guest room. 

He spots Winry and May Chang standing in the hallway, looking into Al’s room with their hands over their mouths, lips curled into gentle smiles. Winry spots him, and waves him over with her free hand, the other carrying a camera. 

Bemused, Roy walks over. 

In a hushed tone, Winry titters, “ _Look_!” 

He looks into the room. 

His eyes widened. 

The Elric brothers are sleeping against each other in their soul animal forms. A regal lion with brilliant golden fur is curled up against a small scrap of a creature. Ed’s eyes are squeezed closed, and he’s tucked into the curve of Al’s belly, just near his massive forearm. Ed has practically burrowed under Al, and Roy is familiar with that feeling; he knows how much Ed seeks warmth with others. Al is curled almost protectively around his older brother, and the size difference is too much for Roy’s poor heart to handle. 

Ed’s nose twitches and his tail whaps against Al’s stomach, causing Al to shift and yawn. His massive jaws opened and closed. Ed followed suit, his tiny yawn shuddering through his body, before he turned to follow Al, burrowing into his fur even further. 

Roy is silent for a moment as his heart races marathons. 

He hears a _click_ from beside him. 

“Miss Rockbell,” he finally says, “would you be so kind as to make me a copy of that photo?” 

Winry grins, nodding. 

Roy has to resist physically grasping at his chest to alleviate the overwhelming feeling of warmth coursing through him. 

He plans on framing the photo first thing when he and Ed get back home. 

\---

He wonders what it’s like to cuddle in one’s soul animal form. Ed is more than happy to oblige, saying that he’s always thought that black panthers were super cool. Roy snorts at the childish adulation but can’t help but preen a little as he always does whenever it comes to Ed. 

That night ends up with him curled around Ed, a beacon of warmth, as Ed purrs into his thick jet-black fur. 

\---

“Hey, bastard.” 

“Yes, Edward?” 

Ed leans up, pressing a kiss to Roy’s lips. 

When they break apart, Ed’s looking at him with lidded eyes. The fire by the hearth illuminates his molten golden eyes. 

“I love you.” 

Ed’s leaning into Roy’s warmth as he often does on nights like these. His words are a whisper, meant only for Roy, and he feels them reverberate through his heart strings. 

Roy puts down his book, wrapping his broad arms around the man next to him. He holds Ed so gently, so softly, that he almost can’t believe that this is the same man that he had dragged into hell as a child, and who had come out all the better for it. This is the same man that he had grown to adore and cherish, the same man who had a fire in his eyes to match Roy’s own. 

He runs his hands through the soft blonde rivulets of hair running down Ed’s back, before cupping Ed’s face with his palm. He sees the crackling of the fire reflected in Ed’s golden depths. 

He smiles. 

“I love you too, Edward.”

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes—
> 
> 1\. Al cannot transform into his soul animal until he gets his body back so no one knows what his soul animal is while he’s in the armor. 
> 
> 2\. Ed has all of his limbs when he transforms into his soul animal mainly because I wasn’t sure how to deal with this plot-wise. Forgive me :’) 
> 
> 3\. Homunculi cannot transform into soul animals either because they are not really human and are powered by the souls of the philosophers stone within them, so they don’t really have one centralized soul. I guess this doesn’t really matter for Envy though, does it? 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Be sure to leave a comment ehehe. Also lmk what you think the other characters’ soul animals would be!


End file.
